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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25833142">the truth will tear your heart out</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ardenjames/pseuds/ardenjames'>ardenjames</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - 1990s, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Angst, Breakups, Communism, F/F, Grunge, Hurt/Comfort, Protests, Riot Grrrl AU, Socialism, shitting on 90s pop music</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 00:14:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>34,863</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25833142</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ardenjames/pseuds/ardenjames</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Nine months ago, Enjolras got her heart broken and wrote an album about it. Now, she’s faced with the subject of those songs as her band tries to navigate the Seattle punk scene, protests, and falling in love (not again, but for the first time).<br/>(Aka Riot Grrrl AU)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Cosette Fauchelevent/Éponine Thénardier, Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>45</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>the truth will tear your heart out</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this fic is inspired by me listening to against me! for many many hours! also because i have many thoughts abt riot grrrl music. Title from the against me! song spanish moss (one of my faves off of White Crosses). I also made <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5m88XkYbh2EcbUE8P1OTM3?si=dAJD2VWnT828YFPRMUySqw">this playlist</a> while writing this, if you want some angry gay music! thanks as always for reading! -arden</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Their concerts always got…rowdy. Courfeyrac preferred the term “exciting” while Eponine would call them “riots,” but Enjolras knew that her fans weren’t the type to hurt each other; they would start fires and throw bricks through a Wells Fargo window, but at her concerts they would express that energy in a more positive way. Enjolras had never had any problems with her fans either at concerts or at marches; they were all fighting the same system.</p><p>Of course, sometimes dumbass teenage boys would try to push their way through the mosh pit to start drama, but Enjolras had the fistfight experience of Eponine and Courfeyrac on her side to prevent any real damage. Most of the time she hung back, yelling about male entitlement and the inability of women to have spaces of their own while her band-mates took care of the physical side of things. Enjolras could hold her own in a fight, but she preferred to make her point through words and lyrics.</p><p>At their first concert of 1993, on a brisk January evening, Enjolras had a moment of worry that the tide would turn. That the fans who had always been there to support her would turn their backs on her.</p><p>The energy was listless in the bar, with more pushing and shoving before the show than Enjolras was used to.</p><p>“Do you think there’s something different about tonight?” She asked Combeferre, who had her drumsticks stuck in the back of her jeans pocket and was puffing on a cigarette by the door. “Something feels off.”</p><p>“You always say that when you’re nervous, as if you expect someone to show up with a Molotov cocktail,” Combeferre returned, giving Enjolras a soft smile that belied the piercings on her face and the tattoos swirling up her arms. For a six-foot punk, Combeferre was the most level-headed of their band.</p><p>In the back of her mind, Enjolras knew that was why she had come to Combeferre in the first place.</p><p>“I’m not <em>nervous</em>,” Enjolras argued, “I think there’s always pressure when we’re playing new music.  The fans, they’re who we do this for, so any opinion on the new songs comes from them first and foremost.”</p><p>“They’re going to love it,” Courfeyrac said, butting her head into the conversation. “I mean, <em>Tabula Rasa</em> is one of the best things Jehan and Enjolras have written in a <em>while</em>.”</p><p>Enjolras opens her mouth to protest, but Courfeyrac plows on.</p><p>“—Not to say that the last album wasn’t amazing! But I mean, how does the bridge go?” She hummed out the melody, and Enjolras watches her hands pluck the patterns on an invisible guitar.</p><p>Enjolras sang softly letting the words roll of her tongue. She and Jehan had written <em>Tabula Rasa </em>about a girl that Jehan had seen with electric blue hair and a soft disposition, who ended up smashing a beer bottle over the head of a guy who thought it would be fun to harass her in Seattle’s premier dyke bar. They’d had fun with that song, and the poetry truly flowed out of Jehan in a way Enjolras had never seen before.</p><p>“I mean that, <em>damn</em>,” Courfeyrac breathed, leaning heavily against Combeferre. Rather than push her away, Combeferre gently wrapped her hands around Courfeyrac’s waist, pulling the shorter girl closer to her.</p><p>“I have to agree with Courf’s passionate defense of your language, Enj,” Combeferre said with a smile. “Your new stuff is beautiful, and we’re all excited to play it.”</p><p>Enjolras breathed out, some of her nerves assuaged as always by the support of her band mates. The three of them had been playing music since middle school, when Joan Jett records were the only thing that could get them through life in rural Idaho. When they moved to Seattle for college, they fell in with Eponine and Jehan, completing their quintet of renegade women ready to change the world.</p><p>“Five minutes!” The stage manager called, nudging the three of them into action. Enjolras realized she had yet to even check on her guitar, but breathed a sigh of relief as Jehan walked up to her with the bright red Fender in her hands.</p><p>“Go out and kick some ass,” Jehan said with a grin.</p><p>Enjolras pressed a quick kiss to her cheek and swung the guitar strap over her shoulder. “We always do,” she replied with a smile before being dragged by Courfeyrac onto the tiny stage, crowded with the four of them and Combeferre’s drums.</p><p>“We’re Rebel Yell,” Enjolras began to a cheer from the crowd, “Girls to the front!”</p><p>With a shout, she was back in her element, and they launched into their first song.</p><p>Sometimes, Rebel Yell concerts got rowdy, but that’s where Enjolras thrived.</p><p> </p><p>X</p><p> </p><p>The post-concert high seemed to carry Enjolras through the entire week. Their Sunday show was just a precursor; the rest of the tour wouldn’t happen until the new album was fully released. Enjolras and Eponine were still arguing over the title, and Jehan kept harping on about cover art as if it was her life’s work.</p><p>“Why can’t we just use a photograph?” Enjolras argued fruitlessly as the four of them sat on a couch in Eponine’s apartment. “I thought the disposable camera picture from the last album was a great addition—“</p><p>“Enjolras, that was the <em>last album</em>,” Jehan sighed, as if Enjolras’ inability to understand her artistic vision was causing her physical pain. “You know as well as I that there’s something different this time.”</p><p>With that, whatever positive feelings had carried over from Sunday bled out of Enjolras. “We don’t have to bring that up. I was just making a point,” Enjolras said coldly.</p><p>No one needed to ask for clarification. The band was as close as friends could be, not in the least because the majority had hooked up with each other at some point in their lives. They had all been there last May, when Enjolras’ first and only relationship had imploded in spectacular fashion, causing a riot of emotions that had culminated in the newest album.</p><p>If anyone asked, the album was written by all four of them; Enjolras and Jehan might have had the most credits, but they were all a part of the process. This album, though, was different. Enjolras had felt the words pouring out of her, the anger and the hurt, as if she was physically incapable of keeping it locked inside her.</p><p>“I get what she’s saying,” Combeferre said, drawing Enjolras back to the present. “It would be nice to have something personal for the next album. Since, I mean, the subject matter—“</p><p>“We’re <em>not talking about that</em>,” Enjolras said through gritted teeth.</p><p>“Aw, baby’s first heartbreak,” Courfeyrac said with a giggle. Of the four of them, she had the most…conventional look with her honey-blonde hair and bubbly personality, but Enjolras had seen her fuck up men twice her size during anti-fascist protests. If anyone insinuated she was anything but a badass lesbian, Courfeyrac was quick to correct them.</p><p>That didn’t stop her from being annoying as all hell sometimes.</p><p>“This album isn’t about heartbreak,” Enjolras argued, “this album is the culmination of the fears and emotions of the people, a response to the oppressive forces which are pushing us down! Change and revolution is emotional, and deserves to be recognized in music.”</p><p>“Nah,” Courfeyrac said with a laugh, “I think it’s about how you miss getting eaten out every night by a certain artist friend of ours.”</p><p>Enjolras’ eyes narrowed, but before she had a chance to respond, Eponine slammed her beer can against the coffee table.</p><p>“Listen, I love fucking with Enjolras as much as anyone, but don’t you think we should focus? I mean, we’re supposed to send everything over to VJ in a month, and we haven’t even agreed on the last two songs <em>or</em> found any album art. I swear to god, if Cosette gets angry at us for this I’m putting the blame solely on you, Courf.”</p><p>Courfeyrac’s mouth dropped open, and she gasped. “But Eponine! What did I ever do to you! Would you truly throw me under the bus just because of your crush on our agent?”</p><p>Eponine’s cheeks darkened slightly, but she held her ground. “If you spent half as much time writing music as you did making fun of Enjolras we wouldn’t be in this mess, might I remind you.”</p><p>Enjolras felt herself itching for a cigarette as the bickering continued, but she’d kicked that habit last May. Of course, it had nothing to do with the fact that the smell of cigarette smoke was a reminder of <em>her</em> and nights spent on her roof overlooking the sound, sharing a Marlboro between them and pressing soft kisses to her shoulder between puffs.</p><p>“Eponine has a point, Courf,” Enjolras finally broke in. “Lets find an artist to work on the cover art, and I have a few ideas for final songs which might round out the album.”</p><p>“I swear, Enjolras, if it’s another song about ‘<em>her sparkling smile spitting out words of hate like toads from a cursed mouth</em>’ I’m quitting the band.”</p><p>“I still like that song!” Jehan said with a smile. “I thought it was very poetic, Enjolras.”</p><p>“It wasn’t your best,” Combeferre said with a laugh.</p><p>Enjolras groaned. “It was shit, and we all know it. I take responsibility for that one, but we all know I’ve done better.”</p><p>Jehan crawled over Eponine, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek as she shifted down the ratty couch. “Do you want to work on a few numbers this afternoon? I already know an artist who would probably be interested in this theme, she might have some cool pieces we could work with.”</p><p>Enjolras already knew what that would entail: Jehan would bat her soft grey eyes, and Enjolras would spill out her secrets and fears and anger, would rage about how she left in a flash after a fight that got too real, when breakup sex wouldn’t be enough to fix what was said in the heat of the moment, how that moment when she turned back and wouldn’t meet Enjolras’ eyes before walking out of her apartment for good was the lowest Enjolras had ever felt.</p><p>And then Jehan would take those feelings and weave poetry from them, writing songs of mutual hurt, of destructive tendencies where she tried to pour water on an oil fire, tried to stop a hurricane with a paper fan. Jehan was a wizard at making their experiences universal, of reminding Enjolras that what she was feeling wasn’t unique.</p><p>But then Enjolras would have to go on stage three weeks later and sing those songs, and beneath the raging guitars and Combeferre’s relentless beat, Enjolras would see her heartbreak played out for the world to see.</p><p>She had already given enough of herself to this album, had given enough of that relationship to the point where she should probably have Cosette give <em>her</em> royalties for inspiring so much of the new music.</p><p> “No, I’ve got things to do,” Enjolras replied vaguely, already packing up her battered backpack. “Combeferre, I’ll see you tomorrow?”</p><p>Combeferre nodded, but her eyes were cautious. “Sure; do you want me to come with you?”</p><p>“I’m good, just tired,” Enjolras replied. Truly, she wanted to escape from any thought of the past year, and her bandmates and music did nothing but remind her. It was time for a date with the bottle of Riesling in her fridge. Enjolras didn’t drink much, but some nights called for it. Nights where her thoughts were filled with black curls and sarcastic smiles.</p><p>“Jehan,” she continued, “if you want to call that artist friend of yours tell her she can come to our next show to get a feel for our music. I want this to be a collaborative effort, and she’ll need to know what we’re like if she’s to create the album art.”</p><p>Jehan snorted. “She actually knows the music pretty well, but I’ll let her know! Next show is at that place in Fremont, yeah?”</p><p>“Yeah, my brother’s bartending there and he said they’d let us play,” Eponine broke in.</p><p>“Isn’t your brother like, sixteen?” Courfeyrac said.</p><p>Eponine elbowed her in the stomach. “Who are you, the cops? He can get us a half hour, so we’d better start advertising.”</p><p> </p><p>X</p><p> </p><p>Enjolras showed up at the bar suitably early—as in, just as Magloire was unlocking the doors.</p><p>“Aren’t you kids performing in a few hours?” Magloire asked, rolling her eyes. “We’re not Key Arena, you don’t get to soundcheck.”</p><p>Enjolras nodded, and lifted up her journal. “Just wanted to get some work done before the show.”</p><p>Magloire sighed, but let her into the dingy space. It was the kind of bar where Enjolras, and the whole group really, felt most at home. The bar off to the left, surrounded by rickety tables covered in sticky menus and salt and pepper shakers, with a stage in the far back. Magloire’s only lights came from a few neon signs on the wall and the occasional floor lamp with its orangey hue casting interesting shadows across the room.</p><p>Enjolras took a seat near the door and opened her journal, still trying to figure out the set list for that night. Flipping through the pages, Enjolras could nearly remember exact moments in her life based on the snippets of lyrics she had written down in that journal. Songs about riots that had happened, about the politicians when she was feeling particularly angsty, or about her friends and the power they wielded. That was the beauty of music, Enjolras thought. She could take one idea, and through her voice alone could change thousands of hearts and minds.</p><p>Distracted by her writing, Enjolras didn’t notice the bar start to fill up as the sun began to set. By the time darkness had set in and the dim hue of the bar was no longer enough for Enjolras to see the page before her, she looked up only to notice a short, curvy woman with curly black hair walking through the door, her denim-jacket-clad body thumping through Magloire’s door in the heavy combat boots she refused to take off, even though they got soaking wet in the winter rainstorms.</p><p><em>You’ve got to be kidding me</em>, Enjolras thought to herself, ducking her head in the hopes that her hair would hide her face well enough.</p><p>Of course it wouldn’t, as she could still hear Grantaire’s voice in her head “<em>Your blonde hair makes you a beacon of righteousness, dear; probably why the cops are always vying to take you down first</em>.”</p><p>No, the universe would not let her be so lucky as Grantaire sat down in the chair across from her with a thump, setting a pint between the two of them.</p><p>“Fancy seeing you here,” Grantaire drawled, forcing Enjolras to finally make eye contact with her.</p><p>“Oh is it?” Enjolras sniped, because sniping was easier than taking in Grantaire in all her glory, black eyeshadow carelessly smeared across her face, the silver stud glinting in her eyebrow, soft lips smirking at her, a cigarette dancing between her fingers.</p><p>“I always thought this place was too seedy for the likes of you. Y’know, I bet they only have a shitty five-dollar chardonnay for you to drink, how will you ever survive?”</p><p>Just to prove a point, Enjolras reached forward and took a sip of Grantaire’s beer, grimacing at the sour taste. “You don’t know everything about me,” she retorted. There was nothing that got her heart beating fast quite like that glint in Grantaire’s eyes.</p><p>Realizing what she’d done, she put the beer back down and pushed it back. That wasn’t something she and Grantaire did anymore. That brought her back down to earth, remembering that she was supposed to hate Grantaire for all that had happened between them.</p><p>Grantaire just looked at her with a frown. “No, I guess I don’t. And I guess I never did.”</p><p>“Seriously, though, why are you here,” Enjolras asked, “I thought Eponine would’ve let you know that we were playing here tonight.”</p><p>“Oh, you know me, listening to the rules was never my skill,” Grantaire drawled.</p><p>Before Enjolras could retort, Grantaire reached across the table and snatched Enjolras’ journal. “Still writing away, I see?” She said with a laugh, flipping the book open to the page Enjolras had marked with her pen. “What kinds of revolution are we stirring up these days?”</p><p>“Give it back,” Enjolras said through gritted teeth, trying to pull the book out of Grantaire’s hands.</p><p>“Oh, what’s this?” Grantaire began with a smile. As she read the lyrics, Grantaire’s laugh died down. Without a glance at the page, Enjolras knew what song she was reading. There were far too many songs in that little book that detailed the intricacies and fallacies of their ill-fated relationship; if Courfeyrac could hear the melody and feel the urge to give Enjolras a hug, it was no wonder that Grantaire could see the truth. She closed the book softly. “I didn’t know you’d gotten into writing love songs,” she said quietly.</p><p>Enjolras took a deep breath, and finally wrenched the journal out of Grantaire’s hands. “It’s none of your business.”</p><p>“Well, I suppose you’re right,” Grantaire replied, “it hasn’t been my business since last May.”</p><p>“And they’re not love songs,” Enjolras continued.</p><p>“I guess it’s hard to write love songs if you’re an angel of righteousness who only gets off on direct action and the dictatorship of the proletariat,” Grantaire said, rolling her eyes.</p><p>Enjolras ran a hand through her hair, feeling anger bubbling up inside of her. This wasn’t the place to rehash their breakup, and Enjolras <em>certainly</em> wasn’t going to get drawn into an argument about Marx again. “Whatever you’re here for, Grantaire,” she said firmly, “I’m not interested. I have a show to play, and you just fuck up the energy of whatever space you’re in.”</p><p>“Oh, so now you’re putting the blame on me for all your shitty shows?”</p><p>“You think our shows are shitty? Two of your best friends are in Rebel Yell, what the fuck would you say about them!” Enjolras felt her voice rising above the din of the bar.</p><p>“I didn’t say that, don’t stop putting words in my mouth—“ Grantaire began to growl, her eyes narrowing.</p><p>“Then stop being such a fatalistic piece of shit!” Enjolras finally yelled, as the bar quieted around them. Enjolras realized she was standing up, hands pressed on the table in front of her as Grantaire lounged back in her seat with that Cheshire grin on her face.</p><p>“Oh, to hear you whisper sweet nothings into my ear once more,” Grantaire mused as she stood up. “This has been fun, E, but I need a refill. See you around.”</p><p>With a wink, Grantaire sauntered over to the bar and began chatting with Magloire. Enjolras took a deep breath, and tried to ignore the feeling of panic setting into her chest. What was Grantaire doing here? Enjolras still remembered the conversation, mediated by Jehan and Eponine, last May:</p><p> </p><p>X</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Enjolras had agreed to meet up with Grantaire and her mediators at a pretentious coffee shop in Belltown. A neutral location, Jehan had implored, as most of the baristas and bartenders at their normal establishment had taken sides in the feud of 1992 which had devolved their group to the point of exhaustion. So it was a coffee shop with four-dollar cappuccinos that made Enjolras’ lip curl where she ended up, hunkered down in a corner waiting for the other three to arrive.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Tucked away from prying eyes, Enjolras didn’t have to answer any questions. People might ask why she looked like she hadn’t showered in days, why her eyes were so red, or why she was wearing a tshirt that was three sizes too big. Right now, she was in no place to have people recognize her as the lead singer of a fairly well-known punk band, at least locally. She wanted to be hidden away; it had taken every ounce of Jehan’s oratory skill to get her out of the apartment. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Enjolras didn’t know what had happened, how it had gotten to the point where they needed mediators to distract from throwing punches in a public place. Something had broken between them, the arguments got more personal and things couldn’t just be solved with a bit of make-up sex. And Enjolras, who prided herself on her ability to parse out feelings, and rage, and passion into fits of lyrical genius, was at a loss.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Ah, I see Circe has decided to leave her isle of the blessed to join the mortal world once more,” she heard from across the coffee shop. She looked up, and Grantaire didn’t look much better than herself. Her hair was tucked under a beanie, and she was in one of her grungiest sweatshirts with dark circles under her eyes—whether they were from last night’s makeup or a lack of sleep, Enjolras couldn’t be sure.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Please, R, let’s not start with a fight,” Eponine said calmly. Sitting down next to Enjolras while Jehan and Grantaire sat across from them. “We’re here to talk about what our next steps are, not to go through all of the drama of the past three weeks.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I don’t see the point of discussing it in person, especially since she’s made it clear what she thinks of me.” Enjolras spat out, unable to look at Grantaire any longer. Just the sight of those deep, dark brown eyes seemed to pierce her soul. </em>
</p><p><em>“Oh, of course, and if </em>you<em> don’t see the point of something, it must not matter at all—“ Grantaire retorted.</em></p><p>
  <em>“Of course you’d spin my words out of context, it’s what you do best—“ </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Jehan broke in before Enjolras could get any further. “Listen, you two. How are we going to keep going if every single time you’re in the same room you blow up.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“We’ve been kicked out of two bars this weekend alone because you guys won’t chill out,” Eponine said, rolling her eyes. “If Kate’s kicks us out, I’m going to punch both of you.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Then I guess we just won’t go to the same places,” Grantaire muttered. “We’ll split up the city like divorced couples getting custody.” She gave a sarcastic smile and leaned towards Enjolras. “I assume you want Kate’s on Thursdays because of her drink specials, which is all right. I can have quality time at that coffee shop on 16<sup>th</sup> on that day, you know I can’t resist the barista.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Enjolras ignored Grantaire’s obvious efforts to get a rise. She had a point, beneath all of the bullshit. “That’s not a terrible decision. You obviously want nothing to do with me, so maybe it’s best if we just keep apart. Our friends can do what they want, but I’ll make sure to stay out of your way and you out of mine. You don’t come to our shows, and I won’t come to your shop. It’ll be the best option.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Enjolras could see Grantaire gearing up to fight, but then something seemed to snap, and she sighed. “Fine, that’s fine. I guess.” She stood up, pressing a hand to Jehan’s shoulder. “I assume y’all will work out the details; you were always better at that kind of thing.” She gave one last smile and walked out of the coffee shop, leaving Eponine and Jehan gaping at Enjolras.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“What?” Enjolras asked. It seemed like things had just worked themselves out. “Isn’t that the best option?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“You do realize R thinks you just kicked her out of the group, right?” Jehan asked.</em>
</p><p><em>“Not coming to our shows, E?” Eponine said with a frown. “Like, the majority of our social interactions revolve around </em>Rebel Yell<em>, and now she’s not allowed to come to any of our events?”</em></p><p>
  <em>“Well,” Enjolras spluttered, “I mean, it’s not like I can just not go to our shows. If we’re going to make an effort to avoid each other to stop getting into fights, it’s best for her to just—“</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Enjolras,” Eponine said. “I know you’re both hurt right now, so you obviously can’t make the decisions Jehan and I expected to be able to have, but I did expect more from you.” She turned to Jehan. “I’m gonna go check on R, make sure she’s not doing anything stupid, will you try to explain to this dumbass why that was a bad idea?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Enjolras scoffed, but silenced at Eponine’s glare. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>After Eponine left, Jehan switched seats to lean against Enjolras, resting her curly hair against Enjolras’ chest. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I know I messed up,” Enjolras whispered. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I know,” Jehan replied.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I don’t know how to fix it.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I know.”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>X</p><p> </p><p>Magloire’s was filling up, and Enjolras snapped herself out of her memories to focus on the task at hand.  She saw Courfeyrac and Eponine setting up near the stage, and Combeferre was talking with one of the sound guys—probably for the best, as the last time they’d played at Magloire’s the mic had cut out halfway through and Enjolras ended up shouting the last half of her songs, much to her vocal chords’ dismay.</p><p>She stood up and walked towards them, nodding at Eponine’s brother behind the bar and ignoring the fact that he seemed to be in deep conversation with Grantaire. Instead, Enjolras focused on mentally going through the setlist and figuring out which songs from the new album they were going to play.</p><p>“Our fearless leader finally decides to come over!” Eponine said with a laugh as Enjolras approached. “We saw you brooding in the corner and decided it was better not to disrupt you.”</p><p>Enjolras just rolled her eyes rather than replying. “I think we should start with ‘Dykes in Love’ rather than pushing it towards the middle of the set like usual.”</p><p>Courfeyrac nodded, but Eponine gave Enjolras a shrewd look. “Enjolras, what—“</p><p>“You’ll never guess who I just saw at the bar,” Combeferre broke in, her mouth set in a thin line.</p><p>“Combeferre, wait a second—“ Eponine interrupted again, eyes growing wide.</p><p>“Who?” Courfeyrac asked.</p><p>“<em>Grantaire</em>,” Combeferre finally spoke out. “I have no idea why she’s here, particularly since I thought you two,” she motioned to Enjolras, “had worked out a system.”</p><p>Courfeyrac grinned, and Enjolras felt her stomach drop. “Is <em>that</em> why you wanted to start with ‘Dykes in Love’ Enjolras?” She asked with a laugh. “Want to prove something to your old paramour?”</p><p>“Of course not,” Enjolras snapped, willing her face not to turn bright red as it was wont to do. “I just thought the energy might work better. We can go by the original setlist if you’re so concerned about that.” She felt her anxiety mounting, just thinking about what singing that song in front of Grantaire would entail.</p><p>She and Combeferre had written the song a few months before Enjolras and Grantaire had broken up, but by the time it was ready their relationship was starting to spiral and Enjolras couldn’t let herself sing a damn <em>love song</em> when her love life was falling to pieces around her. The lyrics hadn’t made sense, hadn’t worked their way back into her vocabulary until recently. When she’d finally shown it to Eponine and Courfeyrac, the two of them had smothered her with hugs as soon as she’d finished singing.</p><p>“It does have a good bassline,” Courfeyrac said, putting a calming hand on Enjolras’ arm. “But, are you sure you’d be able to stay focused on the music rather than the audience?”</p><p>Enjolras took a deep breath. Combeferre had a point, she most often did.</p><p>“No, actually,” Eponine broke in, tuning her bass guitar and not making eye contact, “I think it might be a good idea.”</p><p>Combeferre’s eyes narrowed. “Eponine—“</p><p>“It’s an energetic song, and it will catch the audience’s attention,” Eponine continued without pausing. “I agree with Enjolras.”</p><p>Enjolras blinked a few times, not used to Eponine simply falling in line. Of the three bandmates, Eponine and Enjolras fought most often; Combeferre said they were just too similar, and if Enjolras was drunk enough she tended to agree.</p><p>There was a pause, and Enjolras ended up fiddling with her hands, not sure what to make of the situation. She could feel that something else was going on, especially as Eponine and Courfeyrac had a frantic conversation through their eyebrows alone. Enjolras knew she wasn’t always the <em>most</em> in tune with others’ emotions—one could argue it was part of the reason she and Grantaire were no longer together—but she’d gotten better. And she knew something was up.</p><p>“Let’s vote on it,” she said quickly. If there was one thing Enjolras was confident in, it was the democratic processes of their band. “All in favor with starting with ‘Dykes in Love’?”</p><p>Everyone raised their hands. Enjolras nodded. “Good. We start in twenty, make sure you’re ready.”</p><p>With a sense of closure, Eponine muttered something about needing a drink and pulled Courfeyrac with her towards the bar, leaving Enjolras holding her bass awkwardly. She’d always found the bass unwieldy, so she set it down on its stand before grabbing her own guitar to tune. She walked back towards the stage, and Combeferre followed her silently, awkwardly waiting to bring something up in her classic Combeferre way.</p><p>As Enjolras began to tune the B string, Combeferre sat down on one of their amps and looked up at Enjolras.</p><p>“Are you okay?” She asked softly, biting on her lip ring. “I know Grantaire’s presence must have startled you, and if it’s going to disrupt the show—“</p><p>“I talked with her,” Enjolras blurted out. “Before you guys got here, we talked.”</p><p><em>We haven’t talked in nine months</em>, Enjolras didn’t say<em>. My heart was in my throat, I remembered how much I missed her laugh</em>.</p><p>Combeferre was silent for a moment. “So you <em>are</em> singing this for her. Are you sure that’s a good idea? There’s a reason we didn’t play this song until two months ago.”</p><p>Enjolras swallowed and switched to the E string. “I think I need to, if only for the assurance that I can play it without breaking down in front of her.”</p><p>Combeferre nodded, and looked over at Courfeyrac and Eponine who seemed to be in a heated conversation.</p><p>“Do you know why they’re being so weird?” Enjolras asked, putting her guitar back down.</p><p>“I have a suspicion,” Combeferre replied, “but we can talk about it after the show.” She stood up, pulling off her loose t-shirt so the majority of her tattoos were on display under a tank top. “Five minutes ‘till show, let’s kick some ass.”</p><p>Enjolras took a deep breath and nodded. She’d figure out what was going on with her friends, and with Grantaire being there, and with everything else after they focused on the task at hand. Playing live music was what made Enjolras feel more connected to her community than anything else, and she had to treat each concert like it was her last, giving it her all. That meant that all of these questions would have to wait until later.</p><p>She rolled up the sleeves of her red flannel and ran a hand through her tangled hair. Courfeyrac and Eponine made their way back over, and as Magloire dimmed the lights, Enjolras grabbed her guitar and walked out onto the stage.</p><p>Standing in front of the mic, with the lights beaming down on her and the energy of the crowd thrumming, Enjolras began: “Are you <em>tired</em> of the system?” She shouted. “Are you <em>pissed</em> about the way things are being run, by the politicians and the businessmen who are putting their own wealth before the <em>lives</em> of the people who’s labor they exploit? Is <em>the man</em> getting you down?” Cheers began to rise up, and Enjolras smiled. “And I don’t just mean the <em>man</em> who runs the factories, and the offices, and the government. I mean the <em>men</em> who are holding up the patriarchal culture which tells women that their voices don’t matter! That their lives exist to be subordinate! That their purpose is to be <em>fucked</em> by men, literally!”</p><p>She felt Eponine and Courfeyrac walk out behind her, and Combeferre took her place behind the drum set.</p><p>“We don’t have <em>time</em> for that shit,” Enjolras shouted. “My friends, my <em>people</em>, all of <em>womankind</em>, we are Rebel Yell and we are here to remind you of the power of our voices! Girls to the <em>front</em>!”</p><p>With that, they launched into ‘Dykes in Love’, and Enjolras felt herself getting swept away in the sounds, the energy, and the power of her words. There was something truly magnificent of channeling her anger and pain into raucous music. To create, rather than letting the world get the best of her, Enjolras was fighting back in the only way she knew how.</p><p> </p><p>X</p><p> </p><p>As they tumbled off the stage, Enjolras was wrapped up in a huge hug by Courfeyrac who began to press kisses to her cheeks. She smiled, comforted by the sweaty warmth of her friend as her throat felt raw and her limbs ached. The post-concert high was always a magical feeling, and the four of them made their way to the bar where Eponine’s brother was waiting with four shot glasses.</p><p>“Legendary show,” he said with a grin, pouring generous amounts of rum into each glass. “Magloire said these were on the house, as a thank you for the tunes.”</p><p>Enjolras smiled, but didn’t drink. She looked around the room, at all of the friends and community members who had joined them for the evening, and her eyes settled on two heads bent together near the front door. A familiar jacket and another woman with long, red hair and a floral-print shirt.</p><p>“What’s Jehan doing with Grantaire?” Enjolras asked as Combeferre was sucking on a lime.</p><p>“Not sure, but I’m sure we’ll find out,” Combeferre said, and Enjolras noticed the two of them walking over.</p><p>Fuck.</p><p>“Incredible show, you guys!” Jehan gushed, wrapping her arms around Courfeyrac who leaned into the touch. “Absolutely fantastic, and the new music sounds amazing! Didn’t you think it was great, R?”</p><p>Enjolras turned to Grantaire, who’s face was schooled into a neutral expression. “Yeah, it was a great show,” she said softly, making eye contact with Enjolras. “I like the vibe of your new songs. Very…emotional.”</p><p>Enjolras ignored the panic rising in her throat. “Yeah, uh, it’s part of the new album coming out in June.”</p><p>“I know, Jehan’s been telling me about it.” Grantaire responded, looking more composed than she had any right to be. Enjolras felt like she would shake apart if she kept looking at Grantaire, but Grantaire seemed calm and relaxed.</p><p>“Actually, that’s why we’re here,” Jehan broke in, and Grantaire finally looked away. “Grantaire is the artist I mentioned, and I was thinking she could design the cover art for our next album.”</p><p>There was silence, which just brought the din of the bar back into focus, and Enjolras felt her heart pound.</p><p>“That sounds like a good—“ Courfeyrac began before Enjolras interrupted.</p><p>“Are you kidding me?” She asked, eyebrows furrowed. “You want <em>Grantaire</em> to design the album art? That’s fucking—“</p><p>“Let’s not get too out of control,” Combeferre interrupted, putting her hands on Enjolras’ shaking ones. “Grantaire, I assume Jehan has shared the demos from our new stuff with you?”</p><p>“Not yet,” Grantaire said, confident, “but from what I’ve heard tonight, I like the new vibe, and think there are a few directions we could go. Maybe a kind of comic-book look, or some cool line work as well. I can have a few mockups done soon that I could show you guys.”</p><p>“Wait, are we just going to ignore the fact that we’d be working together?” Enjolras spoke up, pulling her hands away from Combeferre. She couldn’t believe how calm everyone else was being. “I mean, I can’t imagine that we’d be able to get much done if we follow the rules we set down last year.”</p><p>“Oh my god,” Grantaire said rolling her eyes. “Are you serious Enjolras? Do we still need those ridiculous rules? I feel like we’re both grown ups, and enough time has passed that we can stand to be in each other’s company, right?”</p><p>Enjolras paused. Grantaire had a point. In most cases, to move on past their history and work together would be easy. But that assumed that they were both <em>able</em> to move on, able to forget the history they’d shared and the pain of it ending. And, Enjolras remembered Grantaire’s art and it was beautiful.</p><p>“Move on?” Courfeyrac said with a laugh. “I mean, I dunno about you but Enjolras and Jehan <em>did</em> just write an album about you, R.”</p><p>Enjolras blushed and glared at Courfeyrac. “That’s called closure, Courf, and has nothing to do with my current feelings.” She took a deep breath and faced Grantaire head-on. “Fine, if you think you can handle working together professionally, and <em>only</em> professionally, I will consider it.”</p><p>“Great,” Grantaire said, but she wasn’t smiling. “Want to stop by my place tomorrow? All of you, of course,” she quickly added, looking away from Enjolras. “I’ve already got some ideas, and I’ll probably have more tonight.”</p><p>“I’ve got class, and Courf is at work,” Combeferre said apologetically. She turned to Enjolras, with a glint in her eye Enjolras usually reserved for Courfeyrac. “But I think Enjolras is free, aren’t you, babe?”</p><p>Enjolras glared at her friend. “Yeah, I’m free,” She said, wrapping her arms around her torso. Her friends were demons and they would never be forgiven for this.</p><p>“Oh wonderful,” Jehan sighed, “I’ll be there too. Enjolras, I’m so excited for you to see R’s new stuff, it’s astounding.”</p><p>Much to her chagrin, Enjolras <em>was</em> excited to see what Grantaire’s new work looked like. She had always been an incredible artist, that much had been clear from when they’d gone out on a date at one of Jehan’s poetry readings on Capitol Hill, only a few days after meeting at a much louder concert. Grantaire had been wearing a shirt she’d screen-printed herself, with the outline of a nude woman and a poem written across the woman’s breasts. Enjolras would later learn the words were Jehan’s, but the sharp lines, dramatic colors, and shaky style was all Grantaire’s.</p><p>It was unique, powerful, and unfortunately would fit right in with Rebel Yell’s music.</p><p> </p><p>X</p><p> </p><p>Enjolras ended up at Grantaire’s tiny apartment half an hour early. The familiar craftsman house, with the stairs that led down into Grantaire’s basement abode with its bright green door brought back memories that Enjolras wished she had hidden a bit deeper in her subconscious.</p><p>Before she could get carried away by the history, the door was pulled open—it still squeaked, Enjolras was annoyed to learn—and Grantaire stood before her.</p><p>“What the—you’re here early, Enjolras,” Grantaire muttered, rubbing her eyes. She seemed to be wearing the same shirt from the night before, with a pair of boxers that Enjolras had never seen before.</p><p>Not that that meant anything.</p><p>“Sorry,” she said, “I underestimated the amount of time it would take the bus to get here, but if you’re busy or—. “</p><p>Grantaire cut her off with a scoff and walked back inside, motioning for Enjolras to follow her. “Whatever, it’s not like I forgot how you take your coffee. We might as well get the awkwardness out of the way so we can work together professionally like everyone wants.”</p><p>Enjolras followed Grantaire into her apartment and was shocked by how different it looked. Nine months ago, Grantaire’s room, a tiny studio with a bed in one corner and a kitchenette in the other, had been covered in her own work, with paintings drying on the windowsill and sketches lining the walls. Now, the cracked walls that had been hidden by her art was on full display, and the barren space felt empty, even though it was as cluttered as ever.</p><p>“Where’s all the art?” Enjolras blurted out without thinking, She stood awkwardly in the center of the room, not wanting to sit down on Grantaire’s bed, the bed they had shared so many times before.</p><p>Grantaire looked up from the coffee pot she was poking at on the linoleum counter. “Oh, most of it is at the shop. Mabeuf is finally letting me put some of my own stuff up on the walls, so I’ve been touching up some of the pieces to go on display.”</p><p>“That’s amazing, Grantaire,” Enjolras said, still looking around at the blank walls.</p><p>“I’m surprised you noticed,” Grantaire muttered, focusing on the coffee. “Not like you gave much interest to my art when we were together.”</p><p>Enjolras bit her lip with a retort on her tongue.  Combeferre would shout at her if she started an argument with Grantaire within five minutes of speaking with her. They could do better. They <em>had</em> to do better, if there was to be any progress on this album art.</p><p>Before Enjolras figured out a way to respond without yelling at Grantaire, the coffee maker beeped and Grantaire quickly poured two cups in chipped mugs.</p><p>“Black, a fuckload of sugar,” Grantaire muttered as she handed Enjolras her mug. Enjolras just nodded, still trying to formulate her thoughts. Truly, it was only Grantaire who rendered her speechless.</p><p>She looked down into her coffee. “I always respected your art, Grantaire. Why do you think I agreed to us working together?”</p><p>“Oh, so you respected my art but not me?” Grantaire said with a laugh.</p><p>“No, that’s not what I meant, and you know it,” Enjolras groaned. “You <em>always</em> do this. You twist my words, and deliberately misunderstand me just to be antagonistic.”</p><p>“So what if I do?” Grantaire retorted. “At least then you paid attention to me.”</p><p>Enjolras was silent for a moment. It seemed that every conversation led back to the same topic: their breakup.</p><p>“Maybe this won’t work,” she said, putting her coffee back on the counter. “I appreciate you agreeing to put the past behind us, but apparently we can’t just ignore our history. Might be best if—“</p><p>“Oh, so you think that I’m too emotional to work with you on one fucking album cover? I see how it is,” Grantaire interrupted.</p><p>“That’s not what I meant—“ Enjolras tried again.</p><p>“No, I get it. <em>Clearly</em> you’ve moved on, so I’m the one who must be still heartsick over you, as if I’ve spent these past nine months crying over our time together like some chick flick leading girl.”</p><p>“Grantaire,” Enjolras broke in, taking a step towards the shorter woman, “I was talking about <em>me</em>. Or did you forget that I just wrote an album about you?”</p><p>Now Grantaire was at a loss for words, and her eyes were wide as she met Enjolras’. “I thought, well I thought Jehan was kidding, to be honest,” she said quietly.</p><p>Enjolras realized how close they had gotten; she could smell Grantaire’s coffee wafting between them. She took a step back, looking around simply to avoid making eye contact with Grantaire. This is what she wanted to avoid. A big conversation with feelings where she had to admit that <em>maybe</em> there was the possibility that she wasn’t completely over Grantaire.</p><p>Jehan would think it was simply romantic, but Enjolras wished she wasn’t having this conversation.</p><p>Enjolras looked back at Grantaire, thinking she would have to reply soon. But instead, Grantaire’s face was deeply flushed and she was biting her lip, looking at the carpet.</p><p>“I can’t believe this,” she muttered, but then seemed to compose herself. “Fine, whatever. I’ll do this with you and your band, but this doesn’t mean we’re friends or anything.”</p><p>“Of course,” Enjolras said. “Strictly professional. We can go back to the rules after this is over, if you’d like.”</p><p>“The rules were fucking dumb, Enj,” Grantaire said, rolling her eyes. “I just meant, don’t expect me to forget how much you fucked up my life. We’re not good, or anything.”</p><p>Enjolras figured she should’ve expected that, although it was unfair that Grantaire was the only one who was allowed to feel hurt. Just because Enjolras had finally bit the bullet and broken up with Grantaire, didn’t mean that she wasn’t allowed to feel upset.</p><p>“Sure, whatever,” she muttered, looking at the clock on the wall and praying to the non-existent god that Jehan would show up soon. “Can you just, I dunno, show me the mockups you have for the album? Jehan should be here by now, and she might just be running late.”</p><p>That seemed to snap Grantaire out of her moping, and she nodded, walking over to a messy desk in the corner of the studio. “Yeah, here they are,” she said, picking up a sketchbook. She brought it over to the bed and sat down on the edge, motioning Enjolras to sit next to her.</p><p>Enjolras hesitated. Grantaire seemed to notice, and stood back up, clearing her throat before opening up the sketchbook.</p><p>As Grantaire rambled, talking her way through the designs, Enjolras focused on the way Grantaire’s hands flipped through the pages, short nails with chipped black nail polish, small cuts and scars littering her fingers, and knuckles obviously still recovering from her most recent brawl. Enjolras remembered those hands running down her back, or pulling her hair into a braid to keep it out of her eyes, and her heart seemed to ache. It was something so small, and yet she couldn’t focus on anything else.</p><p>“So, what do you think?” Grantaire asked, looking up at her. Enjolras felt herself blush.</p><p>“Uh, they’re all great, obviously, but I think the second one might work better for our vibe, you know?” She said, as if she’d made a more concrete opinion than just a quick glance of the page in front of them.</p><p>“Well, I mean if I knew what the music sounded like, or what you guys wanted to focus on, I might be able to come up with a better idea of your vibe,” Grantaire said.</p><p>“Yeah, that makes sense,” Enjolras said, trying to think of how incriminating it would be for Grantaire to hear the new music. Of course, she would hear it eventually, but there was a difference between publishing the album and showing Grantaire the music in a private setting. That was too…intimate.</p><p>“That was a hint, Enjolras. Can you give me some of the lyrics? Or if you have tapes of some demos, that would work too. There’s only so much I can glean from the riotous shit you guys play at your shows, particularly when the sound system is as lousy as Magloire’s.”</p><p>“Uh,” Enjolras looked over to the backpack she had dropped by the door. “Sure? I might have one or two tapes somewhere in my bag; do you have your cassette player still?”</p><p>Grantaire motioned to the bulky box in the corner, hooked up to two speakers. “Of course. How else would I get noise complaints about playing the Cure at three in the morning?”</p><p>Enjolras scoffed, standing up to grab her bag. Talking about music, that was where she felt most comfortable, even in the most uncomfortable space she’d ever been in. “Of course you still listen to the Cure. I thought you’d grown out of that dumb new wave phase of yours.”</p><p>Grantaire let out a laugh, bright and light. “You still think new wave is overrated? I mean, think of the kind of stuff they’re doing! Depeche Mode, New Order, Simple Minds, their influence has been <em>amazing</em>.”</p><p>“All I hear is men, men, men,” Enjolras retorted, finally steeling herself to sit on the edge of Grantaire’s bed. It was either here or the plastic chair with three legs that leaned against the wall, and Enjolras didn’t want to push her luck. “New wave as a movement is and was an inherently sexist musical movement, prioritizing the voices of dumbass British white men who just found out what a synth was yesterday.”</p><p>“Oh, and I suppose you’d argue that what Siouxsie Sioux and Joan Jett are doing has been is earth shattering?”</p><p>“<em>Yes</em>,” Enjolras said, leaning forward. “Not because of their music, I mean you know what I think of Siouxsie and the Banshees’—“</p><p>“Yeah, what did you call them that one time? A group of kids who’d never tuned an instrument in their life?” Grantaire broke in, still leaning against the counter rather than sitting on the bed with Enjolras.</p><p>“Well, what Siouxsie herself and Joan Jett, and even like the fucking Go-Go’s and Heart, they’re all <em>making space for women</em>. And that’s the punkest thing you can do, taking back music from the men who have pushed us out for so long.”</p><p>“Now that’s an argument I’ve never heard,” Grantaire said with a laugh. “Heart, a punk band.”</p><p>“Just because they play arenas doesn’t mean you can take away the power that they have, as women who keep being told to just be pop singers rather than fighting to play their own instruments.”</p><p>“Ah, the battles for our instruments, a true test of feminism.” Grantaire took another sip of coffee.</p><p>“It <em>is</em> a battle, though. This is—“</p><p>“If you’re going to say war, Enjolras, I will laugh in your face, I hope you know.”</p><p>Enjolras sighed. She could see the conversation drifting away from safe topics into the spaces they’d tried so hard to avoid when they were dating.</p><p>“I know you don’t see it that way, but music makes a difference. It <em>changes</em> things, changes people. Heart knew that, Joan Jett knew that, and we know that too. If not to make a statement, then why are we here?”</p><p>Grantaire just smiled, but it was a brittle smile and her eyes were dark. “Isn’t it enough to just enjoy music? To think is beautiful, outside of the politics?”</p><p>“Nothing exists outside of politics, Grantaire,” Enjolras scoffed.</p><p>“Oh, of course. I forgot that if something wasn’t already explicitly political, you’d do your damndest to change that. Screw doing things for pleasure.”</p><p>Grantaire’s voice was cold, and Enjolras felt like there was something there, something else that she was missing, as if Grantaire wasn’t just talking about music anymore. But she couldn’t figure it out, and part of her didn’t even really want to. After all, she wasn’t dating Grantaire anymore, she wasn’t automatically privy to her thoughts.</p><p>“Fine, can we just—“ Enjolras broke off, pulling the tape for <em>Tabula Rasa</em> out of her bag. “Here’s a demo of one of the songs. You already heard some of them at the show, but this one might give you a sense of the arc of the album.” And, it had the benefit of not being explicitly about Grantaire, which was a plus.</p><p>Grantaire took it from her, still frowning, and Enjolras watched as she began to fiddle with the cassette player, smiling a bit when the opening chords began blasting through the speakers. She closed her eyes and began to hum along, and even though the speakers weren’t great the power of the music was as invigorating as ever. How could Grantaire not realize the importance of this type of protest? Even in a dingy apartment in Lake City, Enjolras felt like she could take on the world.</p><p>As the song faded out, Enjolras opened her eyes to see Grantaire staring at her, a closed-off look on her face. </p><p>“I forgot how intense you get,” Grantaire said softly, popping the tape out and walking over towards Enjolras. She sat down next to her on the bed, leaving space between them, and handed the tape back to Enjolras. “It’s a good song, though. Love the visuals, and I can hear Jehan’s rhythm in it.”</p><p>“I’m glad you liked it,” Enjolras said, distracted by Grantaire’s eyes on her. “Does it, I mean, will it help with coming up with the album art?”</p><p>Grantaire nodded, and leaned back onto the bed. “Yeah, I’m sure I can reference something, maybe Guerilla Girls or Jacob Lawrence? I’m thinking bold colors, simple outlines, y’know that kind of thing. I’ll work with Feuilly and Cosette at the label on the font, make sure it fits with what VJ needs and all that.”</p><p>“That’s, I mean, that sounds great,” Enjolras exhaled. She was thankful that Grantaire was actually taking this seriously, and putting out some good suggestions. “If that’s all, I can give you Cosette’s number and we can move forward?”</p><p>Grantaire smirked, leaning up on her elbows to look at Enjolras. “I still have her number, Enj. Just because you stopped talking to me doesn’t mean I burned my rolodex.”</p><p>“I didn’t mean to—“</p><p>“No, you just thought that all of our friends would choose you over me in your little battle. I’d say I was hurt, but I know that’s just how your brain works. Woe are you to see the world in anything but black and white.”</p><p>Rather than respond, Enjolras stood up and cleared her throat. Getting into another fight would end the way they always did, and Enjolras didn’t have it in her to keep going.</p><p>“Were we always like this?” She blurted out, immediately turning red. She hadn’t meant to say that.</p><p>Grantaire’s mouth snapped shut. “What do you mean?” She asked.</p><p>“Fighting. I feel like…there must have been more, back when we were, y’know—“</p><p>“Together? You <em>can</em> say it as if it weren’t some big huge secret, you know.”</p><p>“I’m just, I’m <em>so</em> tired of the arguing, aren’t you?” Enjolras continued, ignoring Grantaire’s snide remark.</p><p>That caused Grantaire to sit up, tucking her legs underneath her. “Are you changing your tune? Who is this new Enjolras who is apparently no longer ready to fight at any opportunity?”</p><p>Enjolras bit her lip, trying to figure out what she meant. The feeling that was settled on her stomach, she couldn’t describe it. “We fought, all the fucking time, and then when we were done fighting, shit wouldn’t get solved, y’know? It always felt unfulfilled. And then we broke up, and I thought that might solve it, but apparently not. Because I’m <em>still</em> tired.” She wrapped her arms around her chest, as if she could squeeze the answers out of her heart. “And we never really <em>talked</em>, about what happened—“</p><p>“Because you made it clear you didn’t want to talk, Enjolras,” Grantaire finally broke in, standing up and facing Enjolras head-on. “I <em>asked</em> to try to figure it out, to figure out what made you finally give up on me, but you just moved on!”</p><p>“I didn’t give up on you,” Enjolras tried to retort, but the words sounded false on her tongue.</p><p>“Yes you did,” Grantaire replied, voice cold. “You told me that your writing, your fucking band and your activism would <em>always</em> take precedence, and if I didn’t understand that then I could just fuck off. If that isn’t choosing your priorities, then I don’t know what is.”</p><p>“You could’ve fought back, you’ve always been good at that—“</p><p>“It was pretty clear you were telling me to fuck off! Why would I stick around, always playing second fiddle to your bullshit idealism?” Grantaire’s voice was steadily getting louder, and Enjolras found herself feeling overwhelmed in the tiny space.</p><p>There was a beat of silence, and Enjolras tried again. “The two can coexist, relationships and—“</p><p>“Not if you treat one as your destiny, and one as a convenience to get fucked every few days,” Grantaire said on top of Enjolras. “Not if your fucking girlfriend doesn’t hear from you for days on end, because you decided to go to a fucking Courtney Love show in Portland without telling anyone! God, it’s like you <em>truly</em> don’t know how human beings work, or anything outside of your Marxist theory bullshit.”</p><p>“Don’t put all the fucking blame on me,” Enjolras said, finding her footing. She could do this. She wouldn’t let Grantaire push at all of her insecurities without trying to fight back. “I was <em>trying</em>, I was <em>learning</em>, and you just assumed that everything would work itself out without any effort. That’s not how relationships work, Grantaire.”</p><p>“Oh, like you would know anything about how relationships work,” Grantaire scoffed. “Maybe that’s my fault, for giving you nothing good to go on.” She broke off, and gave Enjolras a sardonic smile. “But at least you’ve got a good album of breakup songs out of it. Props to you, hope our pain makes you money.”</p><p>Enjolras’ jaw dropped, and without a second thought she turned on her heel and walked out the door, slamming it behind her. She couldn’t do this, couldn’t listen to Grantaire’s cynical and judgmental arguments while she couldn’t even figure out her <em>own</em> mind. That was the problem with arguing with someone like Grantaire. She always seemed to be three steps ahead of you, and acted as if she couldn’t give less of a fuck. It was infuriating.</p><p>Enjolras pretended she wasn’t wiping a few tears from her eyes as she walked up the front steps, nearly running into Jehan who was walking down.</p><p>“Oh fuck, Enjolras, are you okay?” Jehan asked softly, holding Enjolras by the shoulders.</p><p>“What’s new,” Enjolras said, her throat growing tight. “We fought, just like always. She has some good ideas, but I can’t work with her. Not right now.”</p><p>“I thought this would be good for you two,” Jehan murmured, pulling Enjolras into a hug so Enjolras’ face was pressed between her breasts. “You two, like fire and matches, endlessly pulling each other into the sparking flames. It’s beautiful poetry, but emotionally rough.”</p><p>Enjolras snorted into Jehan’s flannel. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it. I’d say we’re a fucking powder keg waiting to explode at any moment, and that we should never be in the same room.”</p><p>Jehan <em>tsk</em>-ed, but didn’t speak, just ran her hands across Enjolras’ back, delicate hands covered in rings bumping across her shoulder blades.</p><p>Enjolras let herself lean into the embrace, ignoring the need to <em>escape, get out, get away</em> from Grantaire’s house. As much as she played the invincible woman, able to destroy the world around her without a scratch, she knew she needed the empathy and love of her friends. If she <em>was</em> a robot, life would be so much easier. Instead, she could feel heartbreak like the rest of them, feel the emptiness that Grantaire had left during their breakup, with the knowledge that no one in her life would ever come close to meaning what Grantaire did.</p><p>“Listen, I promised Combeferre I’d stop by campus to see her after class, but can you let Grantaire know that I’d like to go ahead with her designs?” Enjolras said as she pulled away from Jehan’s hug. She took a deep breath and tried to make her voice sound professional, as if she hadn’t cried a bit.  “I mean, they’re absolutely stunning, Jehan, and regardless of my inability to control my feelings, I think I’d like to have her art.”</p><p>“Of course, babe,” Jehan said softly, stepping down the stairs until she was Enjolras’ height and pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Tell Combeferre I say hello, and I’ll see you around.”</p><p>Enjolras nodded and continued walking up the steps, turning down Grantaire’s street to the nearest bus stop. As she turned the corner, she let out a string of expletives, realizing she’d left her backpack at Grantaire’s.</p><p>Now, she had two choices. Return and face Grantaire <em>and</em> Jehan, definitely still talking about feelings and breakups, or she could just deal with it, and hope she could live without her wallet for a few days.</p><p>But she definitely couldn’t live without her apartment key, so it was the former that she had to contend with, taking a deep breath and turning on her heel.</p><p>Of course, as she began walking back, Grantaire turned the corner with Enjolras’ backpack in her hand and a grimace on her face.</p><p>“Forgot something?” She asked, handing over the scruffy Jansport when she got close enough.</p><p>Enjolras took it, making sure their hands didn’t brush. “I, uh, was just about to come back. Thanks.”</p><p>Grantaire nodded, and made to turn around, apparently not going to continue any conversation. As she walked away, Enjolras had a sudden burst of guilt.</p><p>“Grantaire, I’m sorry,” she called out. That made Grantaire stop in her tracks, and she turned around.</p><p>“What are you sorry for?” Grantaire muttered, wrapping her arms around her chest. Only then did Enjolras see that Grantaire was out in the brisk air still in her t-shirt and boxers. She’d slid a pair of flip flops on her feet, but nothing that made her look remotely ready to face the outside world.</p><p>“For escalating things. I’ve been told I’m not very good at…well…diffusing a situation,” Enjolras replied, slinging the backpack over her shoulder.</p><p>Grantaire snorted. “Did the cops who locked you up last November after that riot tell you that?”</p><p>“Actually, it was the judge during my arraignment,” Enjolras said with a smile.</p><p>That actually got a full laugh out of Grantaire, who briefly met Enjolras’ eyes before looking back down to the cracked pavement.</p><p>“No, but really,” Enjolras pressed, wanting to walk away with at least a <em>bit </em>more closure. “I know we’re not great at talking things through, but I should’ve made more of an effort. So, sorry.”</p><p>Grantaire just waved her hand. “It’s all right, I mean I definitely said some things I shouldn’t have, so I’m sorry too. Let’s just call it even, and say we’re back on good terms.”</p><p><em>Were we ever on good terms?</em> Enjolras wanted to ask. “Cool,” she said instead, giving Grantaire a half-smile. “Well, see you later?”</p><p>“Yep, see you around,” Grantaire said, already walking away.</p><p>“Cool,” Enjolras said to the empty bus stop.</p><p>Well, that had gone well, right?</p><p>Somehow, Enjolras thought as the bus pulled up, she felt more lost than comforted. How was it, that in a crowd of hundreds of anarchists and rabble rousers, Enjolras felt completely calm and collected, but when it came to Grantaire she never felt comfortable?</p><p>Even as she leaned against the ratty blue seats of the bus, Enjolras knew the answer. Grantaire had what she always yearned for: that personal love and joyous excitement at life that Enjolras could only hope to replicate. It seemed like Grantaire fell in love at first glance, sighing at Jehan or giving Courfeyrac a soft kiss when they first met, writing poetry and drawing expansive murals dedicated to her friends.</p><p>Enjolras loved, of course. She loved with the fierce power of the centuries of revolutionaries before her. But hers was an all-consuming love, a love that brought change and involved the whole of humanity being enveloped in her passion. For Grantaire, love was a brief brush of the hands, a song sung at three in the morning, soft and simple. And Enjolras envied that. She envied the ease with which Grantaire seemed to welcome people into her life and into her love, while Enjolras had only felt that softness with one other person.</p><p>It wasn’t as if falling in love with Grantaire had shifted Enjolras’ entire life. She still wanted change, still believed in the power of her music and the people and the voices of the oppressed, but now she knew there was something else out there. Something like a heartbeat rather than a drumbeat.</p><p>And apparently, she’d fucked that up last May.</p><p>Finally, the bus came to a stop near the university, and Enjolras hopped off, making a beeline to Combeferre’s building, walking past college students who made Enjolras roll her eyes at the state of education. Were these the troops she was to rally in the fight against capitalist oppressors? When all they could focus on was their cell phones or dance music? She took a seat on a bench outside the building, pulled her journal out of her backpack, and tried to parse out her feelings, waiting for Combeferre’s class to get out.</p><p>When students began to stream out of the building, Enjolras looked for Combeferre’s curly hair sticking out in a crowed of white students. Combeferre had been doing work with the Black Student’s Union since undergrad, but she had still ended up the only black grad student in the Anthropology department, much to her annoyance.</p><p>“How was class?” Enjolras asked as Combeferre sat down next to her, tossing her books between them.</p><p>“Marginally better, I must admit,” Combeferre replied. “My students this quarter seem more interested in having a discussion in class than the last group, which means going over the readings is less like pulling teeth.”</p><p>Enjolras smiled briefly, remembering her own time in college before she dropped out. Her professors would have dreamt of the day Enjolras decided to keep quiet during a class period.</p><p>“How was the meeting with Grantaire?” Combeferre continued.</p><p>“It…went,” Enjolras said haltingly, unsure of where to begin. Even though it had only been an hour or so, seeing Grantaire this morning had felt like a lifetime. Enjolras paused, and Combeferre thankfully let her take her time. “How do you know when you’ve broken something you can’t replace?” She said finally, trying to figure out how to put it in more concrete terms as she went. “I mean, we talked, sort of. But, there’s something there, apparently, that remains between us. And seeing her, being around her again, it’s making me remember all of the good and the bad of our relationship. But I can’t seem to work through it like I did when we broke up. I thought I’d figured it out, but—“</p><p>“But you were just ignoring it,” Combeferre broke in, smiling. Enjolras thought that was an odd reaction to her baring her soul on a bench, so she narrowed her eyes as Combeferre continued. “I was wondering when we’d have this conversation. I mean, Enj, babe, you never got over her. I know you think you did, especially after the album was finished, but I don’t think you ever really sat down and <em>thought</em> about what she meant to you.”</p><p>Enjolras put her head in her hands. “I am way too sober to think about it now,” she argued, giving Combeferre a meaningful glance.</p><p>“It’s noon, and it’s a Tuesday,” Combeferre retorted, but she was already packing up her bag.</p><p> </p><p>X</p><p> </p><p>“I’m surprised to see her still affecting you this much,” Combeferre said once they were sat at a bar.</p><p>Enjolras furrowed her brow. “It was my first and <em>only</em> long-term relationship, ‘Ferre,” she replied. “Of course it fucked me up, and it’s still on my mind. It’s only been like nine—” <em>ten now</em> her traitorous mind reminded her, “—months.”</p><p>“Well, it’s just,” Combeferre took a sip of her Guinness. “I don’t mean this to be crass, you know I love you, but you were the one who broke up with her. <em>You</em> ended things, and I think in particular Grantaire and Eponine and them all thought it was proof of your lack of interest in her.”</p><p>“Are you serious? That was <em>never</em> it. I’ll probably always be in love with Grantaire, but…” Enjolras trailed off. “I don’t actually <em>like</em> arguing with people I love,” she continued quietly. “I mean, I never like fighting with you and Courf, and even Ep. We have so many battles to fight, so much to argue about in terms of fighting for our right to exist, that I want that love to be a place where we can feel…safe with the people we love.”</p><p>Combeferre was silent for a moment. “Did you not feel safe—”</p><p>“No, not like that,” Enjolras quickly backtracked, looking down at her wine glass and the condensation around its rim. “But there was always an edge. Always something she was holding back, something we weren’t talking about. And I could never figure out what it was, or why certain things would just, spiral. I didn’t <em>want</em> our relationship to be a constant fight, but that’s what it turned into, near the end.”</p><p>As Combeferre was about to reply, Enjolras felt a kiss pressed on the top of her head and she looked up to see Courfeyrac’s face, still in her grocery store uniform. She’d forgotten that Courfeyrac’s shift ended at one, and that the store was right around the corner. “Are we talking about Enjolras’ breakup? Do you know that’s one of my favorite things to talk about?”</p><p>Enjolras groaned and rolled her eyes as Courfeyrac pulled a chair between her and Combeferre. “You just like making fun of my bad decisions.”</p><p>“Well, of course,” Courfeyrac answered, waving down the bartender. “But I like making fun of <em>all</em> of your bad decisions, not just your lesbian-related ones.”</p><p>“Aren’t all of her decisions related to being a lesbian?” Combeferre chimed in with a smile.</p><p>Courfeyrac snorted and ordered a ridiculously complicated cocktail that the bored middle-aged man behind the bar didn’t seem keen on making. She also, though, ordered shots. Enjolras didn’t like where this was going.</p><p>“I’m good with wine,” she protested, even taking a sip as proof that she could handle the sub-par offerings of Seattle’s dingy dive bars.</p><p>“Yes, but I want answers, you see,” Courfeyrac responded. “And I’m sure Combeferre agrees that tequila-Enjolras is <em>much</em> more willing to engage in quasi-therapy than wine-Enjolras.”</p><p>Combeferre chuckled, and Enjolras frowned. The week or so after that day in May had included a fair amount of tequila, much to her chagrin. She had been hoping Courfeyrac wouldn’t have remembered that detail, but apparently that was too good to be true.</p><p>But Enjolras had dealt with too many emotions already today, and it was barely afternoon. “Fuck it,” she said, and threw the shot back when the bartender dropped off the round.</p><p>Courfeyrac gaped at her, and then let out a loud whoop. “Keep ‘em coming!” She told the bartender enthusiastically.</p><p>“She really got to your head, didn’t she?” Combeferre murmured, taking her own shot and grimacing at the taste.</p><p>“Doesn’t she always?” Enjolras muttered. “I can’t remember a time since we’ve met that I haven’t wanted to strangle her.”</p><p>“Yeah, with your <em>thighs</em>,” Courfeyrac giggled.</p><p>“But there was good, amongst the bad, right? I mean, or else why did you stay together for nearly three months? You don’t do that with someone you dislike.,” Combeferre added.</p><p>Enjolras mulled that as she took another sip of her now-room temperature wine. She wished the tequila would hit, just so she could stop remembering what it had been like, when there <em>was</em> good along with the bad.</p><p> </p><p>X</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>She later found out that Grantaire didn’t live nearly as far away, and that their friend groups practically overlapped. But that night in December, at a concert hall in Olympia, Enjolras had treated it like a moment, found then lost, rather than something permanent. The band was some guy Combeferre knew from college and other assorted punks, but Enjolras wasn’t in the mood for songs about drinking and letting loose. So much for punk rock, turning into the same party-hype drill that played on the radio.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She scoffed as the band queued up the next song—“This one’s for all the people who have fucked me over!”—and pushed he way out of the crowd to get some water at the bar. Combeferre was still near the front, and Jehan most likely with her, but Enjolras knew she would just annoy them with her arguments. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Looking kinda out of place there, angel,” a voice said from over her shoulder, and Enjolras turned to see a tall, bearded man with slicked back hair and a leather jacket. “Pretty girls like you deserve better than seedy bars and punk bands.” He winked and attempted a grin, but Enjolras just glowered.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Wanna try that again, asshole?” She said, pushing her jacket up to her elbows. True, she had theoretically promised Combeferre to stay out of trouble, but dealing with overconfident men was always an exception. And Enjolras had never been known to back down from a guy like this.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Oh, feisty!” The guy said with a laugh, his teeth peaking out like a snarl. “I like a girl with fire in her.”</em>
</p><p><em>“I don’t know </em>what<em> signs you were picking up, but I don’t think I want my night to consist of pretending to laugh at your shitty, sexist jokes and hooking up in the bathroom where I </em>definitely<em> won’t be impressed by your three-inch dick.”</em></p><p>
  <em>That got him to pay attention. He set his drink down on the bar and turned on Enjolras, and even at her height he towered over her. “What the fuck did you say to me?” He growled.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Enjolras centered her feet and closed her hands into fists, knowing what would happen next. But instead of a punch, she heard a boisterous laugh.</em>
</p><p><em>“Babet,” a short girl with eyeliner smudged across her eyes and lips painted a bright red stepped in between the two of them, and threw an arm around the guy’s waist. “Didn’t we agree that if Joly and I let you come tonight, that you’d at least </em>try<em> to be less obnoxious?”</em></p><p>
  <em>“Oh, you’re friends with this dickwad?” Enjolras said with a snort, and the girl rolled her eyes. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Friends is a bit of an overstatement, Artemis,” the girl replied, pulling her with her teeth and giving Enjolras a rather generous one-over. She blushed, and turned back to the guy in question. “Now why don’t you fuck back off to wherever Mont is and stop bothering this chick.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Babet wrinkled his nose, but apparently took the girl’s advice and turned away. “Wouldn’t be worth the trouble anyways, bet she’s a terrible fuck.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Not like you’d ever have the chance to find out,” Enjolras muttered, but Babet had already woven away through the crowd. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Enjolras turned and gave her full attention to the shorter girl. Her frizzy black hair was loose around her face, her bangs nearly the length of the rest of it, and her jean jacket was covered with countless pins and patches, only a few of which Enjolras even recognized. Under the jacket, the girl wore a ripped t-shirt that barely covered her midriff, and Enjolras caught a glimpse of the black bra beneath. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Asshole,” the girl muttered as she popped the top of a beer. There was absolutely nothing intoxicating about how the girl looked up at her as she took a sip.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Enjolras came back to her senses. “I didn’t need your help,” she said brusquely. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I could see where that was heading, and no offense, but I doubt you could handle yourself in a round with Babet,” the girl responded blithely. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“The fuck do you mean by that?” Enjolras retorted, rolling her shoulders back. Attraction be damned, Enjolras would still fight this chick.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But the girl only laughed. “You expect me to think you can throw a punch?” She set her beer down on the bar and reached forward, fingers encircling Enjolras’ wrist. </em>
</p><p><em>Enjolras absolutely did </em>not<em> feel a tug of something in her stomach.</em></p><p>
  <em>The girl held her wrist up, turning over her arm and looking at the various tattoos Enjolras had collected. “Oh, you’re playing punk, are you Circe?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Mixing metaphors, are we?” Enjolras responded, yanking her arm back. “I thought I was Artemis to you.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The girl winked. “But Artemis is the virgin goddess, and I think we both know which of those words wouldn’t apply to you.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Enjolras felt her face heat up. “Circe, though?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Turning men into swine? Seemed fitting.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Men are already pigs,” Enjolras responded, taking a step closer to the girl.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Ah, so you admit to the accuracy?” She smirked again.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Enjolras laughed. “Is this how you flirt with all the girls? Showering them in mythology?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The girl leaned back, taking a long drink of her beer. “Only the dangerous ones.”</em>
</p><p><em>Enjolras thought back to her words from a few minutes ago. “I </em>can<em> throw a punch, you know.”</em></p><p>
  <em>“You’re not going to let that go, are you?” The girl pushed her hair out of her face. “Well, let’s see your best.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“What the fuck?” Enjolras gaped, “are you some kind of masochist?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The girl let out a loud-belly laugh, and finished off her beer, wiping a hand across her lips, smudging lipstick as she went. “As if you could land a punch, sweetheart.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It was the epithet that did it. Enjolras had been on the receiving end of names like that ever since she had given up on the skinhead look and grown out her hair. People saw her waves of blonde hair, her slim body, her eyes, and they thought she couldn’t hurt a fly. Enjolras had spent her life trying to prove them wrong. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Enjolras thought she moved quickly, throwing a punch towards the girl’s stomach, but was intercepted by the girl’s arm under hers., and she was quickly twisted around until the girl stood behind her, bending over her back and breathing heavily into her ear. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I gotta admit, faster than I expected. Though, I’d also like to warn you I’ve been doing jiu-jitsu for ten years,” the girl murmured, and Enjolras felt heat coil in her stomach once more.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She quickly pulled away, but the girl held onto her arm, her grip not vice-like, but certainly not letting go.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Y’know, if you want to keep it,” Enjolras said, looking down at her hand, “at least give me a name.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The girl leaned forward, standing on her tip toes to reach Enjolras’ ear, still holding her hands between them. “Grantaire,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to Enjolras’ cheek as she pulled away.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Instead of letting her pull all the way back, Enjolras grabbed her—Grantaire’s—other hand, and pulled her back into a real kiss. A roar went up from the crowd behind them, and the shitty band onstage went into another song. As the guitars began, Grantaire slipped her hand out of Enjolras’ and wrapped it around her waist, pressing them together as the kiss deepened. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Enjolras pulled back for a moment, looking directly into Grantaire’s dark and heady eyes. “Pleasure, Grantaire. I’m Enjolras.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Oh,” Grantaire responded, licking her lips. “The pleasure’s all mine.”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>X</p><p> </p><p>After the third shot, the tequila didn’t taste as tequila-ish. Tequila-ish. Enjolras wasn’t sure if that was a word, but Combeferre was nodding in agreement, so she didn’t think to question it.</p><p>“The first time I met her,” Enjolras muttered, “I tried to punch her. That should’ve been an omen.”</p><p>“Ah,” Courfeyrac said with a grin, pulling Enjolras into her side. “But love blinds us to the practicalities of life.”</p><p>Enjolras leaned into Courfeyrac’s warmth, bowing her head so she could rest it on the shorter girl’s shoulder. She smelled like some flowery perfume, not at all like Grantaire’s constant smell of cigarettes and bar stink.</p><p>“I don’t think we were in love,” Enjolras said into Courfeyrac’s shoulder. “I don’t think she ever loved me.”</p><p>“If she didn’t love you, this whole thing would be <em>much</em> less painful,” Courfeyrac replied.</p><p> Enjolras was silent, taking in the general hum of the bar as it began to fill with patrons and the sun fell lower in the sky. Their relationship had always been dramatic, of course, but Enjolras had just thought that was how love felt. All-encompassing, fiery, consuming.</p><p>“It’s like at a protest,” she began, trying to put her thoughts into words. At this point, the tequila was doing more harm than good. “When you’re in the middle of the melee, and the shouts up ahead tell you a fight has broken out, and you’re nervous about what’s going to happen, but at the same time you’ve never felt more alive.”</p><p>“You’re telling me you treated your relationship like some sort of pride march?” Courfeyrac asked, giving Enjolras a pointed look.</p><p>“That’s what love is,” Enjolras replied simply. She didn’t have a drink in front of her, so she grabbed Combeferre’s beer and grimaced as she took a sip. But it was better than nothing.</p><p>Her two friends were silent, and Enjolras saw what looked to be pity in their eyes.</p><p>“Explain,” Combeferre said in a low voice, almost lost under the hum of the bar.</p><p>Enjolras shrugged. “I love both of you, obviously. I love Jehan, and Eponine, and our fans, and our music, and the power we create. I love the energy of the concerts, I love writing music, and changing minds, and showing girls the power they have. I also love Grantaire. How is that love any different?” She knew the answer, even if she didn’t want to say it.</p><p>“Mmm,” Courfeyrac hummed, giving Combeferre another pointed look. One day, Enjolras would decipher those looks. “But there are different <em>kinds</em> of love, don’t you agree?”</p><p>“Well, obviously I don’t want to fuck you, Courf,” Enjolras snapped, still trying to figure out what Courfeyrac was trying to say. Sometimes, she got so caught up in the poetry—Jehan’s fault, Enjolras was convinced—that she never seemed to get to the point.</p><p>“Now that’s a lie, darling,” Courfeyrac responded. “Unless you’ve forgotten high school?”</p><p>Enjolras was about to respond, but Combeferre interrupted and put her hands on Courfeyrac’s. “Enj, I think what Courf is trying to say is that you can’t assume that your relationship with Grantaire would work like other relationships. Sometimes, you have to compromise. Or see things differently.”</p><p>“Yeah, like actually talking instead of constantly falling into bed,” Courfeyrac snorted. “R is my friend too, you know. I’ve heard stories.” She winked at Enjolras, who blushed.</p><p>Sure, a fair number of their arguments had ended in sex, but that wasn’t a problem.</p><p>“Well I don’t remember her complaining about that aspect of our relationship,” Enjolras replied, her brittle feelings returning.</p><p>It wasn’t a problem, was it?</p><p>“I’m just saying,” Courfeyrac continued, “that you can’t just <em>assume</em> your relationship with R worked the same way ours does, or anything else.”</p><p>“But I don’t <em>know</em> anything else,” Enjolras said, frustrated. “Casual sex amongst friends or with random strangers at the Wild Rose don’t exactly prepare one for a long-term relationship.”</p><p>Enjolras took another shot that Combeferre had waved over.</p><p>“Did you ever talk to her about that?” Combeferre asked, “like, about your relationship history?”</p><p>“I mean, she knew I hadn’t dated before. I didn’t make a secret of my past, and she didn’t either. She’d had partners before, but we didn’t go into details.”</p><p>Courfeyrac was silent, her mouth in a thin line. “I think there might be more to that story than you know, but it’s not my place to say.”</p><p>The tequila was making her head feel fuzzy, and Enjolras rested her head on her arms, folded on the bar. They had been together for <em>three months</em>, and there were still things she was learning about Grantaire? How was it possible that they had shared so much, and she still didn’t know the important things. Was it her fault? Should she have tried harder? What did that even mean?</p><p>“I miss her,” Enjolras said, instead of delving deeper into those thoughts</p><p>“I know,” Courfeyrac said.</p><p> </p><p>X</p><p> </p><p>As the bar got busier, Combeferre started looking more often at her watch, and Courfeyrac was making eyes at a girl at the other end of the bar. Enjolras, coming down from being comfortably drunk to the anxious headaches that came after, decided it was time to call it quits.</p><p>“Want me to walk you home?” Combeferre asked as they walked towards the door, leaving Courfeyrac to work her magic on a tall, redheaded woman.</p><p>Enjolras shook her head. It wasn’t that far of a walk, and the fresh air and silence would do her good.</p><p>Combeferre nodded, and pressed a quick kiss to her cheek before turning and walking towards the bus station.</p><p>Enjolras sighed, stuck her hands in her pockets, and began to walk, quickly remembering that this way home was mostly uphill. She grimaced, but kept going, as the sun began to set behind her. She passed a payphone, and before she could stop herself, stepped inside the booth.</p><p>The phone rang, and Enjolras was still inebriated enough not to immediately hang up when a gravelly voice picked up.</p><p>“Hello?” Grantaire said, sounding as if she’d just woken up.</p><p>“Hey,” Enjolras said softly, all thoughts of what she was going to say leaving her head.</p><p>“Circe? Did you change your number?”</p><p>“I’m at a payphone. There were drinks,” Enjolras tried to explain.</p><p>That got a laugh out of Grantaire. “Ah, so you were day-drinking.”</p><p>Enjolras nodded, before remembering that Grantaire couldn’t see her. “You were right, the rules were stupid.” Enjolras didn’t know where that had come from.</p><p>Grantaire was silent for a moment, and Enjolras pushed forward while she was still feeling some sort of courageous.</p><p>“We’re practicing at Combeferre’s house this weekend. You should come. Hear the rest of the album, so you know what it all sounds like.”</p><p>“And my presence there won’t disturb your sacred space of freedom and liberation?” Grantaire said with a snort.</p><p>“I <em>said</em> the rules were stupid,” Enjolras retorted.</p><p>“But you made the rules for a reason. Because you thought we wouldn’t be able to be in the same room together.”</p><p>“If you don’t want to come, that’s fine. It was just an idea.” Enjolras was already regretting this call.</p><p>“No,” Grantaire sighed. “I’ll be there. Even after nine months I have nothing better to do than come running at your beck and call.”</p><p>“Ten,” Enjolras said quickly.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“It’s been ten months, now, since May—uh, since, we—”</p><p>“It’s not a dirty word, Enjolras. Since you broke up with me, yeah. Sorry I don’t like remembering that exact moment in my life.” Grantaire’s voice was short and tense. Like the night when they had fought for the final time.</p><p>Enjolras tried to formulate her thoughts, leaning against the dirty wall of the phone booth. “Are you doing okay, R?” She asked softly.</p><p>“We don’t do this, Enjolras,” Grantaire scoffed. “What time this weekend?”</p><p>“Three on Saturday, but—”</p><p>“Great. See you then,” Grantaire said curtly, and hung up.</p><p>Enjolras stood in the phone booth, dial tone ringing in her ear, wondering how on <em>earth</em> she was supposed to fix this, and why she even wanted to in the first place.</p><p> </p><p>X</p><p> </p><p>Saturday came faster than Enjolras had expected, and after a week of trying not to think about anything related to Grantaire, or falling in love, or emotionality of any kind, Enjolras was slightly on edge.</p><p>Her conversation with Grantaire on the payphone kept spinning through her head, the despondent tone Grantaire had used, the palpable exhaustion in her voice. It felt like talking to Enjolras had drained all of her energy. Enjolras wasn’t used to her sounding so…defeated wasn’t the right word, because Grantaire would never let anything defeat her. Resigned.</p><p>It was over the course of those days that Enjolras had started to ask herself if this wasn’t a terrible idea, and if it would end up worse for both of them. She could control her own emotions, no matter how much seeing Grantaire made her heart clench. But was this going to be as difficult for Grantaire? No one had ever described Enjolras as accommodating, but she suddenly felt the desire to make sure Grantaire was all right. To do things that wouldn’t hurt her.</p><p>The fact that that was a new feeling, Enjolras realized, should have been a sign on how doomed their relationship had been. Of course Grantaire would have ended up sullen and distraught, if Enjolras had spent the entirety of their relationship without considering what would make Grantaire <em>hurt</em>. No wonder towards the end Grantaire had gotten more cutting with her insults and her critiques. She was probably sick of Enjolras as well.</p><p>Of course, compounding this was the fact that Cosette had called them on Thursday asking when the album would be finalized, and if they had art yet, implying that they needed something sooner rather than later.</p><p>That, along with the fact that thinking of playing her new songs in front of Grantaire was causing a fair amount of anxiety, meant that Enjolras hadn’t gotten a particularly good sleep on Friday night, showing up at Combeferre’s the next day, with her hair still frizzy and moving automatically towards the coffee maker, barely even giving Combeferre and Jehan, who lived with her, a glancing hello.</p><p>“Are you all right, Enj?” Jehan asked, grabbing the sugar jar out of the cupboard and putting it next to Enjolras while snaking an arm around her waist. “You don’t look too hot.”</p><p>Enjolras shook her head. “It’s just the deadline from VJ. I need to get some art to him and Cosette soon, and it’s got to be <em>good</em>.” She began adding sugar to her coffee until Jehan’s eyes widened considerably, then added one more spoonful for good measure.</p><p>Combeferre frowned as Enjolras took a sip out of the chipped <em>Seattle Pride 1990</em> mug, still leaning against Jehan. “Are you having doubts about Grantaire’s work? I thought you and Jehan said the mockups looked good.”</p><p>“It’s not her talent that I’m worried about, Enjolras muttered, “more her commitment and time management.”</p><p>She heard a laugh from behind her. “Ah, what a lovely welcome back, hearing Sappho’s dulcet tones discussing my many faults.”</p><p>Enjolras whipped around, and saw the familiar jean jacket and wild curls. This morning, Grantaire looked not much better off than Enjolras, but she was carrying two coffees. She handed one to Jehan and glanced down at the cup in Enjolras’ hand before taking a sip of the other.</p><p>Enjolras’ face went red. “Fuck, that’s not what I meant, R.”</p><p>“Isn’t it? Deadlines, how pedantic and bourgeois of you, Enj. Wouldn’t you say deadlines are yet another creation of the patriarchy to punish women’s creativity by forcing them to conform to some arbitrary definition of time and space?”</p><p>Enjolras couldn’t figure out why her stomach churned with guilt. She’d said much worse to Grantaire in the past, and it had always ended with an eye roll or some absolutely fantastic sex. But guilt? The odd feeling that she should apologize? That was new.</p><p>“It’s not even noon,” she said instead. “What are you doing here?”</p><p>“I invited her,” Jehan broke in, pulling away from Enjolras and grabbing Grantaire’s hand. “We’re going to talk lyrics before practice starts.” She pulled the dark-haired girl towards the rickety staircase.</p><p>Enjolras’ brow furrowed. “Do you want me to come? I did write a lot of the lyrics, you know.”</p><p>“That’s not what I mean, dear,” Jehan said with a soft smile. “Why don’t you and Combeferre work on finalizing the order for VJ? R and I can make something for lunch in a bit.”</p><p>With that, deeming the conversation completed, Grantaire and Jehan traipsed up the stairs, and Enjolras heard Grantaire’s Doc Martens knocking around the bedroom above them. She turned to Combeferre, not reassured in the least.</p><p>“Just let them talk,” Combeferre said with a sigh, filling her own mug with coffee and adding a splash of milk. She glared at Enjolras’ sugared coffee, as if it personally offended her, and walked back towards the living room.</p><p>Living room, though, was a generous term. It was more a collection of couches of various sizes and colors, with murals on the walls done by Feuilly and Grantaire. Combeferre took a seat on her favorite yellow loveseat, and Enjolras curled up next to each other, their feet hooked together in the middle.</p><p>“So, song order?” Enjolras began, but quickly stopped as she looked at the consternation on Combeferre’s face.</p><p>“Want to tell me what’s going on with you and R? you’ve been off your game since she came to Magloire’s, and I want to know what’s wrong.”</p><p>“You should know, none of this will impact my focus on the album, or figuring things out with the label,” Enjolras said, anxiety churning in her stomach.</p><p>Combeferre frowned deeper. “Enj, this has nothing to do with the fucking label. This is about you getting drunk on tequila at noon this week, it’s me trying to figure out why my best friend looks like she’s gotten her heart broken all over again, even though I thought you’d be settled after nine months.”</p><p>“Ten,” Enjolras muttered, unable to help herself.</p><p>“See? That’s what I’m talking about.” She sighed. “God, I wish Courf were here. She’d know more from just that look on your face. But unfortunately, I don’t have her near-psychic ability to understand what the fuck is going on, so why don’t we start talking.”</p><p>Enjolras chuckled and dug her feet a little deeper into the couch. “Is this your idea of being comforting?”</p><p>“Do you want me to give you a look of pity? Maybe cry a bit?” Combeferre said.</p><p>“Ugh, never mind,” Enjolras replied with a smile. She looked down at her coffee, and frowned again. “I don’t even know what’s going on,” she said softly, hoping Jehan had closed her bedroom door.</p><p>“Why don’t we start with something simple. Are you <em>sure</em> you’re still in love with her? Or was that just the alcohol talking the other day?”</p><p>“I’m…not sure,” Enjolras hesitated. “I’m not sure if what we had was love, looking back on it. I don’t think it could have been. I didn’t even really know her, I still don’t.”</p><p>“But three months together, I mean you lasted longer than Jehan and I thought.”</p><p>It was Enjolras’ turn to give her a questioning glance. “What do you mean, you and Jehan?”</p><p>Combeferre shifted in her seat. “Well, you know Grantaire knew Jehan before you two met at that Olympia show, right?”</p><p>Enjolras nodded.</p><p>“Well, Grantaire called Jehan that night and they talked about you, and I heard about it since we share a wall, but I always thought it wouldn’t be anything more than a one-night stand for you. I mean, from what Jehan had told me about R, I didn’t think there was a <em>chance</em> for anything more.”</p><p>“You mean because of politics? Jehan knew Grantaire was contrary and argumentative?”</p><p>“I’d say those words describe you pretty well too, dear,” Combeferre said with a smile. “No, and I don’t know all the details about Grantaire’s past, but Jehan had mentioned she’d had some bad relationships, or something like that. From what I know, and it’s still not much, I didn’t think she would be the type of person for commitment.”</p><p>Enjolras’ hands tightened around her mug. Grantaire didn’t talk about her past, before she moved to Seattle. It was one of the things they just didn’t touch, like Combeferre’s parents and Jehan’s childhood in Texas. Enjolras had always felt that, while someone’s story and their past was important, it couldn’t tell you everything about them. So she never pushed, never wanted to learn about Grantaire’s exes, or her childhood, or anything like that. It was enough to have Grantaire <em>now</em>, and not worry about who she had been.</p><p>“To be fair,” Combeferre said, distracting Enjolras from her thoughts, “I hadn’t thought you were the type of person to do long-term either.”</p><p>“If you’d asked me that a year ago, I probably would have agreed with you,” Enjolras replied.</p><p>“But your relationship with Grantaire was always so fraught,” Combeferre pressed. “Yet that made you want to stay?”</p><p>Enjolras didn’t know how to explain that it was more than that, somehow. Even though their relationship had been defined by fighting—and ended by it—there were those moments of softness that Enjolras still yearned for. Moments of waking up in bed together, laughing along with the radio, and kisses pressed against her cheek in the evenings. There <em>was</em> good there, something that Enjolras didn’t realize she was missing until it had already ended.</p><p> </p><p>X</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>The music was loud, some top-forty hit by Genesis or some equally exhausting group of men, and Enjolras was already bored out of her mind. It was only eight, but she felt like she’d been at the club for hours. Courfeyrac and Eponine had abandoned her when they walked through the door, and Grantaire had told her she’d meet them there, but Enjolras saw no sign of her girlfriend.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Girlfriend. Even the word made Enjolras smile a bit. They’d only been dating for a few weeks, but Enjolras still felt butterflies in her stomach when she thought of Grantaire’s grin. They spent nearly all of their nights together, usually at Enjolras’, but she was growing to love the coziness of Grantaire’s basement studio. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Enjolras stood near the back of the club, drink in hand to prevent any entrepreneurial man from thinking they had an opening, and she surveyed the crowd, hoping to spot the familiar black fringe amongst the brightly-colored hair and flashing lights. Maybe Grantaire had forgotten, maybe she had a long shift at the coffee shop, maybe she was just running late. There were a lot of possibilities, none of which required Enjolras to send herself into a panic. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Before she could think any further, a hand brushed her shoulder, and maneuvered its way into hers, and she turned with a grin, recognizing the callouses. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Pallas Athena,” Grantaire said with a smile, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. “Are you about to go into battle?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Hmm?” Enjolras murmured, kissing Grantaire again, deeper this time. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Grantaire pulled away, but Enjolras wrapped her arms around the shorter girl’s waist, keeping her close. “Just the way you were looking out on the crowd, reminded me of a portrait.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“You’re not going to start painting me as deities, are you?” Enjolras asked with a laugh.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Grantaire chuckled, and pressed her lips to Enjolras’ bare shoulder. “As if my mediocre skills could handle your beauty,” she responded, depreciatingly. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Enjolras just hummed, not knowing enough about art to carry the conversation. Apparently, Grantaire was done with that topic too, as she leaned her head against Enjolras and gently swayed them back and forth. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Why aren’t you on the dance floor?” She asked, moving their hips closer together.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Top forty is so overplayed,” Enjolras said with disgust. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Enjolras,” Grantaire snorted, “I’m pretty sure Nirvana just came on. You gonna tell me you don’t approve of the work Kurt Cobain is doing, giving the record labels shit and saying fuck-all to pop management?”</em>
</p><p><em>Enjolras tilted her head, hands still warm on Grantaire’s waist. Normally, she’d be ready to jump into a fight about male entitlement in the industry, and the ability of men to translate emotions into rock music, but she was </em>happy<em>, in the arms of a soft and incredibly hot girl, and she…didn’t want to fight.</em></p><p>
  <em>Well, that was new.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Instead, Enjolras moved her hand to gently cup Grantaire’s face, and she pulled the girl into a deep kiss, causing Grantaire to moan into her open mouth, and run her hands up and down Enjolras’ back. </em>
</p><p><em>Using all of her strength, Enjolras pulled away, enjoying the dazed look on Grantaire’s face. “I want to dance with </em>you<em>. I’d dance with you, even if it was a Boyz II Men song playing.”</em></p><p>
  <em>Grantaire’s smile widened, and she took Enjolras’ hands, walking backwards towards the dance floor. Enjolras followed, a smile on her face, and softness in her heart.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>X</p><p> </p><p>“I haven’t figured out how to balance those parts of my relationships,” Enjolras said. “I didn’t know how to be a good girlfriend.”</p><p>“Well,” Combeferre said, pushing herself to her feet, “at least for your future relationships you’ll know what not to do, if anything.”</p><p>Enjolras paused, rather than getting up to follow Combeferre to the kitchen. Future relationships? Enjolras couldn’t imagine anyone who would capture her interest like Grantaire, let alone someone willing to stick around as long.</p><p>Before she could think about it any further, the door upstairs opened and Enjolras heard Jehan and Grantaire whispering at the top of the stairs. Soon, they came back down, Jehan giving Enjolras an intense look before moving to the kitchen, pulling Grantaire along with her. Grantaire didn’t even give Enjolras a glance, walking right by her with her hands balled in fists at her side.</p><p>Enjolras stood up and followed them.</p><p>In the kitchen, Combeferre was pulling bread out of the cabinets and Jehan chopping up vegetables near the sink. Grantaire stood near the fridge, sipping on a beer with a frown on her face.</p><p>Taking a deep breath, Enjolras walked over to her, leaning against the cabinets. “Hi,” she said softly, as Combeferre and Jehan bustled around them.</p><p>“Mmm,” Grantaire muttered in response, not looking in her direction.</p><p>“What were you and Jehan talking about?” Enjolras asked. It wasn’t the question she had meant to ask. It wasn’t <em>why are you here? </em>Or, <em>can we ever move past this?</em> Or, <em>Did you love me?</em></p><p>“Not sure that’s any of your business, E,” Grantaire responded after a sip.</p><p>“Considering it’s my band, I think it is. Especially since you’re helping us out with design.”</p><p>Grantaire just rolled her eyes. “Jehan had just mentioned that she wanted me to have a full picture of the album, instead of just hearing it from you, so we went over some of the drafts of songs as well—”</p><p>Enjolras felt a blush rising to her face, and she whirled on Jehan. “Excuse me? Those drafts aren’t for public knowledge.” She said quickly. They were too intimate, too specific. Grantaire would have <em>recognized</em> certain things.</p><p>“Don’t give me that, Enjolras,” Jehan said before Enjolras could add anything else. “It was only for context, not anything scandalous if that’s what you’re thinking.”</p><p>“That’s not— I’m not—” Enjolras spluttered, before turning and walking back towards the living room. Grantaire probably thought she was an idiot now, if Jehan had shown her some of the earlier renditions, particularly of <em>Dykes in Love </em>or <em>Angels and Anarchists</em>. Enjolras knew for a fact that there was a point at which <em>Angels</em> included a line about artists who throw paint on canvases rather than insults during fights. Grantaire would <em>know</em>, would figure out, Enjolras’ feelings about the breakup.</p><p>Much to her chagrin, Grantaire followed her soon, sitting down on a red chair across from her.</p><p>“We don’t have to talk about it—” Grantaire began.</p><p>“Good, because I don’t want to talk about it,” Enjolras cut in.</p><p>“—What I was going to say,” Grantaire pressed on, “is that while <em>we</em> don’t have to talk about it, I’m glad you’re talking to <em>someone</em>, even if Jehan is a romantic about these kinds of things.”</p><p>Enjolras was quiet. “That’s…surprisingly mature of you, R,” she said softly.</p><p>Grantaire picked at her nail polish. “I just…I don’t want you to be weirded out, or anything. It’s good to have people around you after a shitty breakup, and I think it’s pretty clear our whole thing counted as shitty.”</p><p>“It wasn’t—” Enjolras began, before deciding she didn’t want to get into it. “Thanks,” she said instead with a sigh.</p><p>“Just saying from experience, since you don’t have much,” Grantaire muttered in reply.</p><p>“Did you,” Enjolras said haltingly. They <em>didn’t talk about it</em>, but maybe they could try. “Did you have people to talk to?”</p><p>Grantaire looked at her, dark eyes smudged with eyeliner as usual, but clearer than Enjolras remembered. “Yeah, I had people.”</p><p>Nothing else.</p><p>“Did you—”</p><p>“We don’t really do this, Enj.”</p><p>“<em>You</em> followed me out here,” Enjolras retorted quickly, leaning forward so they were eye-level. “I’m just trying to figure out how best to handle this. And I’m,” she exhaled and sat back, running a hand through her hair. “I’m also trying to be <em>better</em>. These past few days have made me realize how fucked up the past ten months have been. I don’t want to keep going like that, and I assume you don’t either.”</p><p>“Neither does my liver,” Grantaire muttered.</p><p>“So,” Enjolras pressed on, refusing to be sidetracked by her concern for Grantaire’s drinking, “can we try to be friends? Normal, lesbian-ex-girlfriend friends?”</p><p>Grantaire gave a small smile, the first Enjolras had seen since that fateful concert at Magloire’s. “I guess. I’m not sure how well this will work out, considering we barely held on when there was the promise of sex involved.”</p><p>“That’s an overstatement.”</p><p>“Is it?”</p><p>“Can I visit Mabeuf’s, sometime?” Enjolras said, biting the bullet.</p><p>Grantaire was silent. Enjolras was worried she had overstepped, that the coffee shop was a line she didn’t know she couldn’t cross. Before, back when things were okay, Mabeuf’s had been one of her favorite coffee shops. It wasn’t even just because Grantaire was the barista; the ambiance, the soft colors and rickety tables, along with Mabeuf’s open and welcoming policies towards everyone made Enjolras feel safe. She didn’t realize how much she missed it until she brought it up to Grantaire.</p><p>“I guess,” Grantaire said haltingly.</p><p>“If it makes you uncomfortable, I won’t. I know that’s your space, and I don’t want to make things worse. Not when we’re trying to be better.”</p><p>“No,” Grantaire said with more confidence. “It’s all right.” She paused for a moment. “I want you to know, Enj, that I’m not going to get in your way, or try to bring things up that are in the past. I know this was hard for both of us, and I’m glad you have an outlet for it, but we don’t need to hash it out more than we already have, alright?”</p><p>“Is this about—” Enjolras began.</p><p>“No,” Grantaire interrupted. “It’s not about the music, or anything. I’m just…I don’t want you to be uncomfortable with me being here, that’s all.”</p><p>Enjolras was stunned, and then she was annoyed that she was stunned. Grantaire had always been kind, especially to their friends. With Enjolras, her kindness was always wrapped in six layers of irony and Enjolras had always felt she had to dig through the cutting remarks to find it. But this openness, it was like how Grantaire acted with Jehan, or with Courfeyrac. She was much more perceptible than she wanted Enjolras to know, apparently.</p><p>“Thank you,” Enjolras said softly, wrapping her arms around her knees to prevent herself from doing something stupid, like reaching out to the girl in front of her. “I’m sorry for…shouting so much, I guess.”</p><p>Grantaire snorted. “Let’s not get carried away, Athena, we don’t need to go to therapy right now.”</p><p>Before Enjolras could respond, Jehan called out that lunch was ready, and Grantaire just gave Enjolras a small smile before standing up and making her way towards their friends. With no other option, and her stomach grumbling considering she’d only had coffee this morning, Enjolras followed.</p><p>Lunch was a casual affair, with Combeferre and Enjolras discussing the setlist, Jehan adding her insights as needed, and Grantaire adding insights that were absolutely <em>not</em> needed.</p><p>“I’m just saying, I think a cover of Manic Monday would really add to the album, y’know, round it out a bit.”</p><p>“We’re not doing a fucking <em>Bangles</em> cover,” Enjolras sniped back, taking a bite out of her sandwich. “I may not care for religion, but some things are unforgivable.”</p><p>“God going to smite you down for <em>I was kisisn’ Valentino by a crystal blue Italian stream</em>?”</p><p>Enjolras forgot that Grantaire had an admittedly lovely voice.</p><p>“I’m not engaging with this,” she said instead.</p><p>Combeferre redirected the conversation, but Enjolras was lost in thought, thinking about how…<em>normal</em> this all felt. Like they were still together, like the past ten months hadn’t happened. The banter, Grantaire’s smiles and bursts of laughter; Enjolras felt as if she could reach out and just grab Grantaire’s hand, pressing a soft kiss to her palm like she used to.</p><p>But just because things were getting better, it didn’t erase the past. And the fighting, and the anger. Enjolras knew that, under the carefully-brokered peace, there was still an undercurrent of hurt that she couldn’t ignore, and neither could Grantaire.</p><p>As the afternoon wore on, the others began to arrive; Eponine, with a pink-cheeked Cosette in tow, and Courfeyrac, leaping into Grantaire’s arms when she saw her. Slowly, they all made their way to the garage, where Combeferre fiddled with her drum kit and Eponine played a rather sultry bassline, tuning as she went.</p><p>Enjolras ran her hand through her hair, grabbing a scrunchie from the folding table where they put left-behind items, and pulling it up into a bun. It wouldn’t stay there, she knew, as rehearsal went on, but she could always hope.</p><p>“Let’s get going,” she said, cutting through the hubbub. “Since we’re all here. R, why don’t you sit with Cosette over there, you two can talk about ideas too. Ep, I want to run through <em>Angels</em> to begin. There’s something about the pre-chorus that feels funky.”</p><p>Eponine nodded, Courfeyrac picked up her own instrument, and Combeferre counted them off.</p><p>Enjolras’ focus, during rehearsals, was always on the music and the group. They needed to be in sync, knowing what was doing to happen before it did, in order to put on a good show. Everything felt organic, especially when there was a fairly rowdy crowd, but Enjolras had choreographed everything down to the minute. She couldn’t let something mess up the passion, the energy, that emanated from the four of them during a live show.</p><p>But while she sang along with Courfeyrac’s melody, Enjolras found her eyes drifting towards Grantaire, sitting on a pile of pillows in the corner, her head on Cosette’s shoulder. Grantaire’s eyes were trained on her, and they seemed to never leave. Completely enraptured, her lips slightly parted. Enjolras didn’t miss any notes—she was lovestruck, but not that much so—but she felt her heart beating faster than normal. The adrenaline that came from the music, from Combeferre’s relentless beat, it wasn’t the only thing bringing a flush to her cheeks.</p><p>With a rousing chord, they finished <em>Angels</em>, and Grantaire and Cosette applauded and smiled.</p><p>“Fantastic, as always,” Cosette said, hands under her chin. “I just can’t wait for this album to come out, you’re just <em>so </em>talented!”</p><p>Eponine winked at her, and Enjolras smiled. “Any notes you have, Cosette, are useful of course as well.”</p><p>“Can’t mess with perfection,” Grantaire cut in, a wild grin on her face. “Seeing y’all, it’s electric. Hard to add any notes.”</p><p>Enjolras felt blush deepen. “Thanks, but I know that’s not true, and so do you.”</p><p>“True, you were flat in the last chorus,” Grantaire said, and Enjolras felt her hackles rise. “But I’m glad I got to hear it again. It’s a great song.”</p><p>“You’re right,” Enjolras relented, giving her a small smile. “Also, Eponine, we need to get that outro down, right now it’s still choppy. Courf, can you play from the second verse?”</p><p>With that, they all reentered rehearsal mode. Over the course of the afternoon, Enjolras kept her eyes on Grantaire, with the other girl giving her occasional notes, most of which were even helpful.</p><p>Enjolras was…surprised, that rehearsal with Grantaire present wasn’t a complete disaster. She supposed their conversation in the living room had something to do with it, but Grantaire wasn’t being the least bit contrary or difficult. Her criticisms, when they did come up, were well-meaning and included tips, rather than just her usual biting commentary.</p><p>Enjolras remembered how rehearsals had gone when they were together, when Grantaire would occasionally stop by, derail the entire meeting with a comment about Enjolras straining her voice, fighting would break out, and by the end they either were making out in some hallway or not on speaking terms.</p><p>But that’s what it seemed all of her memories of their relationship entailed. Fight, kiss, make up, repeat. Oil and water, like Jehan had always said.</p><p>By the end of rehearsal, the sun was fading behind the hills and Enjolras felt like she had a better handle on the direction of an album as a whole. Singing out her feelings, especially in <em>front</em> of Grantaire, made her realize how to organize the tracks so that it showed healing, rather than just a continuation of pain. Especially considering she and Grantaire seemed to be coming towards some sort of healing themselves. She mentioned this to Combeferre, who smiled, and brought Cosette over. Enjolras was just about to start explaining to Cosette her new idea, when she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned around, and came face to face with Grantaire.</p><p>Well, not face to face, as Grantaire was a good few inches shorter. Face to frizzy hair.</p><p>“Hey,” Grantaire said, chewing on her lip, “can we talk for a second?”</p><p>Enjolras nodded, and Grantaire turned on her heel and walked out of the garage, eventually sitting down on the curb and pulling a cigarette out of her pocket. Enjolras sat down next to her, pulling her knees up to her chest.</p><p>“Want one?” She asked, motioning to the cigarette.</p><p>Enjolras shook her head. “You didn’t use to ask me that,” she said quietly.</p><p>“I didn’t use to ask you a lot of things,” Grantaire responded, pulling out her lighter.</p><p>Enjolras was silent as Grantaire took a drag.</p><p>“You know,” Grantaire said finally, “yesterday was a year since that concert in Olympia. Where we met.”</p><p>Enjolras put her head in her hands. She’d completely forgotten, so overwhelmed by <em>current</em> Grantaire. “Fuck, you’re right. Crazy.”</p><p>“I was just thinking about it, when you all were playing. Weird that, this time last year, we barely knew each other—”</p><p>“We still barely know each other, R,” Enjolras broke in.</p><p>That seemed to silence Grantaire. Her shoulders hunched forward, and she took another drag. “Maybe you’re right. Three months, and I didn’t even know you.”</p><p>“I’m, well,” Enjolras said haltingly. “I was thinking of you. How much I didn’t know, about your life, and your past, and all that.”</p><p>“Those weren’t exactly stories I wanted to share, Athena.”</p><p>Enjolras didn’t press. Truth was, she was afraid of the answer.</p><p>“This isn’t why I wanted to talk to you,” Grantaire said eventually. “I didn’t mean to, uh, get into all this shit. I just wanted to say thank you. For, like, letting me hear this. I mean, if I bared my fucking heart on an album, I’d definitely keep it hidden.”</p><p>“It’s not like I had a choice,” Enjolras said softly, kicking her legs out in front of her.</p><p>“How so?” Grantaire asked.</p><p>“It was my first breakup. My first moment of heartbreak. I’ve never dealt with those feelings before, and I knew if I kept them all bottled up inside, I’d break apart. I was talking to Courf and ‘Ferre and all them anyways, I thought I might as well get something useful out of it.”</p><p>“Useful,” Grantaire snorts. “Of course, to you, heartbreak is something that needs to be funneled into greater, more important issues. What, was our breakup a metaphor for the wider issues of commitment in the lesbian community?”</p><p>“Ugh!” Enjolras exclaimed, pulling at her hair, which had by this point nearly all fallen out of its bun. “This is what I <em>mean</em>! You twist my words, making me sound like some harsh and terrible bitch.”</p><p>“Not my fault that’s what you’re saying,” Grantaire retorted.</p><p>Enjolras stood up and turned, looking down at Grantaire sitting there, leaning back with her legs splayed open, confident and surly.</p><p>“That’s <em>not</em> what I’m saying, that’s the <em>point.</em> If you’d let me finish—” Enjolras stopped and licked her lips, trying to figure out what to say. That was the <em>point</em>.</p><p>“I’m a songwriter, a singer, and a leader. I’m <em>good</em> at speaking in public, and I’m fucking brilliant at writing songs. Yet…when I’m with you, I can’t figure out what to say.” She saw Grantaire start to open her mouth, but she held up a hand. “Please,” she said, softer this time. Grantaire nodded, leaning forward and crossing her arms.</p><p>“I didn’t mean <em>useful</em> like that. I meant that after we broke up, I felt like I was going to shake apart. Nothing felt grounding, or safe. Even the activist side of Rebel Yell, protests and shit. It was like I was at sea. But writing, and trying to put my feelings about you to music, that helped. I never thought I was going to end up playing any of these songs. Most of them happened because I got drunk with Jehan and cried, and she helped me make something kind out of the pain. It wasn’t because I was trying to make a statement or anything. It was all I could do to keep going.”</p><p>By the end of her little speech, Enjolras was looking up at the cloudy sky, instead of down at Grantaire. She couldn’t bring herself to look back at the other girl, scared of the smirk that would be on her face or the laughter in her eyes. Baring your feelings to someone…it fucking sucked. Enjolras didn’t realize how much until now.</p><p>“Hey,” Grantaire said quietly, and Enjolras heard shuffling as Grantaire stood up, stubbing out her cigarette with her boot.</p><p>Enjolras kept her eyes on the horizon until she felt a hand on her arm. She met Grantaire’s eyes, and saw sadness and guilt written on her face.</p><p>“I didn’t realize,” Grantaire said simply, her hand still on Enjolras’ arm, a warm weight and a comfort. “It’s a defense mechanism, my therapist would say. I’m worried that if we talk, <em>actually</em> talk, not just fight, that I’ll tell you something or say something that will ruin it. At least in a fight, I was expecting your anger.”</p><p>“Therapist?” Enjolras asked, trying to piece the rest of her thoughts together.</p><p>Grantaire smiled, and her hand dropped from Enjolras’ arm. “You’re not the only one who needed to talk to someone.”</p><p>“The fighting, though,” Enjolras began, “is that why—”</p><p>Before she could ask, Jehan called out from the garage.</p><p>“My darlings! You’ve had enough time to kiss and make up, can we all go get drinks now? Courf has been badgering me for the past ten minutes to break out the vodka.”</p><p>Grantaire pulled away from Enjolras and turned back towards the garage. “Brilliant idea, Jehan dear. I think I hear a vodka cranberry calling my name!”</p><p>“Feeling rather sorority girl today, are we?” Courfeyrac called with a laugh, and Grantaire grinned in response, leaving Enjolras in the street as she answered.</p><p>Enjolras looked down and saw the still-smoldering cigarette butt on the sidewalk. She kicked it again with her own foot until it was just ash and followed Grantaire. That was…progress…she hoped. At least she was learning, at least they were communicating without shouting.</p><p>As she helped Courfeyrac wind up the cables for their amps, Enjolras kept coming back to Grantaire’s comment, <em>at least in a fight, I was expecting your anger.</em> Something about that made her stomach hurt, and she couldn’t figure out why. At the same time, though, that conversation was probably the most vulnerable she’d ever seen Grantaire. It made Enjolras realize how truly hidden she had kept herself during their relationship, if it was only now she was seeing the full depth of Grantaire’s feelings.</p><p>Eponine called out to her as the rest of the group finished cleaning and began pulling on denim jackets and beanies.</p><p>“Ready, Athena?” She asked.</p><p>“You don’t get to call me that,” Enjolras snapped back, pulling her own utility jacket on.</p><p>Eponine smirked, leaving Enjolras to her thoughts and running to catch up with Cosette and Grantaire.</p><p>“You all right?” Combeferre asked quietly, coming up next to Enjolras.</p><p>“Yeah,” Enjolras said, which was only a partial lie. “Just trying to figure some things out.”</p><p>Combeferre hummed in agreement, and took Enjolras’ hand in her own, squeezing it gently. “Let me know when you find the answer.”</p><p>Enjolras nodded, and Combeferre pulled the garage door shut on their way out. Enjolras watched their friends walk ahead of them, laughing and shoving each other as they made their way down the quiet suburban streets, and she remembered what Courfeyrac had said the other day, about all the different types of love that existed around her.</p><p> </p><p>X</p><p> </p><p>After that rehearsal, Enjolras and Grantaire entered into a steady, if distant, pattern of engagement. Sometimes, Grantaire would show up at rehearsals, other times, Enjolras would go to drinks with Courfeyrac and Grantaire would be there. They would exchange pleasantries, maybe a few questions about the state of the album or Grantaire’s designs, and then go back to their own conversations. It was an uneasy stasis, but it was better than never seeing her, Enjolras decided.</p><p>Stasis, though, was not where Enjolras spent most of her time. The idea of an uneasy constant, that represented everything she was fighting against. After all, why else would she be fighting for change if she wasn’t uncomfortable with the status quo? Treating her relationships like a protest was in some ways what had gotten her into this mess, but on this point, Enjolras thought she made a good point. Nothing good came out of sitting around in discomfort. She thought that seeing Grantaire, coming to an agreement that was something other than a complete absence in her life, would be better than before, but it just reminded Enjolras of all of her good qualities, the qualities that were constantly overshadowed when they would fight, and Grantaire would snarl about the state of the world and their relationship.</p><p>One particular April afternoon, as the cloudy morning gave way to a hopeful spring afternoon, Enjolras found herself in Greenlake, right near Mabeuf’s coffee shop.  It wasn’t until she was standing in front of the wide glass doors, looking in at the handwritten sign behind the bar in familiar chicken scratch, that she realized where exactly her feet had taken her, bag of books and journal slung over her shoulder.</p><p><em>We need to move forward</em>, Enjolras thought to herself, before taking a deep breath, and pushing the door open. A bell twinkled above her head, and Enjolras saw Grantaire’s familiar curls poke through the doors leading to the kitchen. Upon seeing Enjolras, eyes widening in recognition, Grantaire ducked back into the kitchen, and Enjolras was left facing Joly at the counter.</p><p>Joly, and her girlfriend Bossuet, always came along with Grantaire but never really took to Enjolras in the first place. They’d show up at the occasional concert, and Enjolras knew Combeferre sometimes saw Joly on campus, but other than that, Enjolras didn’t know them all that well.</p><p>From the raised eyebrow on Joly’s face, however, Enjolras assumed Grantaire had told them at least something.</p><p>Instead of the shouting she expecting, Enjolras watched as Joly took a deep breath. “Hi, welcome to Mabeuf’s!” she said, her smile only slightly forced. “What can I get started for you?”</p><p>“Oh…don’t you like, have any questions as to why I’m here?” Enjolras asked haltingly. Considering the amount of support <em>her</em> friends had given her when Grantaire had showed up at Magloire’s for their concert, Enjolras just expected Grantaire to have the same support.</p><p>“Nah,” Joly said with a much more real smirk on her face. “I just assume it’s yet another dumbass decision on Grantaire’s part. She seems to make a game of it, causing the most misery for herself at all times.”</p><p>Enjolras bit her lip, wondering how to respond.</p><p>“Seriously, though, are you going to order?”</p><p>Enjolras detected a sharp edge to Joly’s voice. Maybe she wasn’t as carefree as she came off.</p><p>“Uh, just an Americano, I guess. That’s fine,” she said, pulling a few bills out of her pocket. Joly took it and gave her change, and Enjolras walked over to an empty table in the bustling shop. She was pulling out a book Combeferre had lent her from the library, when a mug was set down by her elbow.</p><p>“Oh, thanks,” Enjolras said quickly. “I forgot to ask, could I have some—” She looked up, and saw Grantaire standing over her, a small smile on her face. Next to the mug, Grantaire put down a sugar bowl.</p><p>Enjolras couldn’t help the color that rose to her cheeks. “Thanks,” she said softly, adding a few heaping spoonfuls.</p><p>“No problem. Let me—or, uh, Joly too, I guess, know if you need anything?” Grantaire stuttered, one of her hands wringing her apron nervously.</p><p>“Yeah, uh, thanks again,” Enjolras replied, unsure of why it felt so…<em>different</em>, seeing Grantaire standing in front of her.</p><p>Rather than continuing their conversation, Grantaire picked up the sugar and turned on her heel back to the bar, where she began chatting with Joly before another customer came in and grabbed their attention. Enjolras watched her move behind the counter with a confidence that came with knowing coffee like she did. Her jeans were held up with a battered leather belt, Doc Martens on her feet, and her apron tied over a faded t-shirt. She looked good, like she always did, and Enjolras blushed again before turning back to her book. This was supposed to be <em>progress</em>.</p><p>She sipped her coffee, perfectly balanced as usual, and tried to focus on Rosa Luxembourg’s revolutionary ideas in front of her. But every time she heard a snort, or Grantaire’s witty replies to Joly’s comments, she lost her place on the page. Eventually, she let out a sigh and pulled out her notebook instead. Apparently, today was not the day for revolution, it was a day for trying to figure out what the fuck she wanted from Grantaire.</p><p>There seemed to be a great number of those days, Enjolras considered.</p><p>She flipped through the pages of her notebook, crossing things out as she moved, and taking longer sips of coffee as she edited and made notes. Eventually, the mug was empty, and she looked up for either Joly or Grantaire.</p><p>Within the fifteen minutes it had taken her to finish the Americano, however, Joly seemed to have disappeared. Grantaire was standing behind the bar, wiping down the counters, so Enjolras closed her notebook and walked over to her, setting the mug down between them.</p><p>“Could I trouble you for—” She began, before Grantaire looked up and met her eyes.</p><p>“It’s never any trouble, Circe,” Grantaire replied with a wink.</p><p>“Now that’s the least true thing you’ve ever said,” Enjolras scoffed. “I feel like it’s <em>always</em> trouble with me.”</p><p>“Hmm,” Grantaire said, pressing down on the espresso in front of her. “Working on some more love songs?” She said instead, nodding at Enjolras’ table.</p><p>“Trying to,” Enjolras muttered, before she realized what it sounded like and looked back down at the countertop, frowning.</p><p>“I bet all the girls are throwing themselves at you these days,” Grantaire said with a laugh, though it sounded forced. She turned back to the espresso maker and took Enjolras’ mug with her.</p><p>“Not sure if you knew this,” Enjolras retorted, “but I can be a bit intense and off-putting.”</p><p>Grantaire snorted. “That’s one way of putting it.”</p><p>“One way?” Enjolras pressed.</p><p>“I’m not here to stroke your ego, Enjolras,” Grantaire said with a sigh, adding hot water to the espresso and grabbing the sugar jar.</p><p>Enjolras added her sugar and began stirring. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” she said, an awkward apology at best.</p><p>“It’s fine,” Grantaire said, wiping down the espresso maker. “I’m used to discomfort around you.”</p><p>Enjolras paused. “Were you…I mean, never during our relationship, right?” She knew she came off as intense, but if she’d done <em>anything</em> to make Grantaire uncomfortable, she could never forgive herself.</p><p>“God, not like that, Enj,” Grantaire said quickly. “It’s nothing. Forget it.”</p><p>Enjolras wasn’t one to let things go, but the conversation was getting too close for comfort. She didn’t want to be reminded of her failures during their relationship. So instead of continuing, she nodded and walked back towards her table.</p><p>Once sitting, as Grantaire continued to putter around the coffee shop, Enjolras tried once again to focus on the words in front of her, but then the music drifting through the air switched from an inconsequential pop song to something much worse. Morrissey.</p><p>Enjolras couldn’t help but let out a groan. She looked back over at Grantaire, who was humming along with a smile on her face while sweeping.</p><p>“Really?” She said, unable to help herself. “The Smiths?”</p><p>Grantaire just gave her a wicked grin. “Sorry I don’t control the radio, darling.”</p><p>“Want to switch the station, then?” Enjolras asked, getting up and walking to the counter again, in the hopes of not disturbing the other people in the shop.</p><p>“<em>If a double decker bus crashes into us</em>,” Grantaire sang in her characteristically raspy voice, “<em>To die by your side is such a heavenly way to die</em>.” She looked directly into Enjolras’ eyes, and gave a wink, before continuing to sweep.</p><p>Enjolras just scoffed. “Must I explain why Morrissey is such a dick?”</p><p>“Oh, I remember this conversation,” Grantaire said with a laugh. “Are we going to rehash our argument about racism in the British punk scene?”</p><p>“If you can laugh about it then we might have to, it seems,” Enjolras replied, frowning.</p><p>“Honestly, Enj, I can’t—”</p><p>“You’re going to tell me that Morrissey draping himself in a Union Jack in front of a bunch of fucking Nazis means that there’s not a problem with racism in the British punk scene? Or the American punk scene, at that,” Enjolras continued. She could feel her pulse rising, in part because of the way Grantaire’s sardonic smile reminded her of biting arguments, but also because of the legions of punk assholes who would defend Morrissey to the death, especially if their opponent was a girl.</p><p>“I’m not saying Moz is a particularly good person,” Grantaire butted in. “In fact, I do think he’s obnoxious and is politics are inconsistent as fuck. That doesn’t,” she lowered her voice and leaned on the counter in front of Enjolras, “however, mean that I can’t enjoy his music.”</p><p>“Doesn’t it, though?” Enjolras retorted, matching her pose. “How can you separate the art from the artist?”</p><p>“Oh, we’re having <em>this</em> argument, are we?” Grantaire backed up and let out a laugh. She looked at the cash register, and then back at Enjolras, and put up her hand. “Give me one second.” Then, she turned and walked away.</p><p>Enjolras was momentarily at a loss. Grantaire had never walked away from a fight before. Or, at least she’d never walked away from an argument when she thought Enjolras was in the wrong. She straightened her back, and began to walk back to her table, when the kitchen door swung back open. Grantaire walked back out, pulling her apron over her head, and Joly following behind her.</p><p>“You got fifteen, R,” Joly said, waving at Enjolras.</p><p>Grantaire walked towards her, swiping a scone from the display case on her way over.</p><p>“Now, what were you saying about the art and the artist?” She asked, kicking out the chair across from Enjolras’ and making herself comfortable.</p><p>Enjolras frowned but took her seat across from Grantaire. “I thought you had to work.”</p><p>“Never too busy for you, Athena,” Grantaire said with a grin. She broke the scone in half, offering some to Enjolras.</p><p>She knew she wasn’t going to get a better explanation, so Enjolras continued. “I mean, of course it’s the eternal question, but especially with someone as lauded in the indie music scene as Morrissey, you’d think people would care a bit if his politics are just completely dichotomous to the anti-state music he makes. I mean, it’s one thing for an artist to just be a shitty person but to make good, apolitical music, but it’s another for an artist whose motive is <em>explicitly</em> political to still be an asshole.”</p><p>“Hmm, I clearly remember a certain blonde goddess once saying that <em>all music is political</em>,” Grantaire mused.</p><p>“That’s not what I’m arguing about, though,” Enjolras replied, knowing Grantaire was just trying to distract her. “I’m <em>saying</em> that if you’re going to be making political music, it’s hypocritical to not live out those values. And being a racist asshole is <em>definitely </em>not in the spirit of <em>The Queen is Dead</em>.”</p><p>“But isn’t it better to at least be trying to make a statement? Compared to the types of musicians who don’t even try to get their listeners to think about the bigger picture?”</p><p>“I’d say the integrity of the artist is more important,” Enjolras replied. “Morrissey’s activism is such a put-on, made for stirring shit up and causing drama, not because he actually wants to change the state of the world.”</p><p>Grantaire hums and takes a bit of her scone. “That makes a bit of sense, yeah.”</p><p>Enjolras blinked. “Did you—”</p><p>“Oh, c’mon Athena, I’m not <em>incapable </em>of agreeing with you.”</p><p>“No,” Enjolras spluttered. “It’s just, I didn’t expect it. Not used to having…cordial arguments with you I guess.”</p><p>Grantaire looked around the coffee shop. “I mean, I work here, Enj. Don’t exactly want to cause a scene.”</p><p>“That never stopped you before,” Enjolras said, regretting the words as soon as they’d left her mouth. She was <em>trying</em> to not be as combative. This wasn’t helping.</p><p>But instead of her shoulders going taut and giving some snarky reply, Grantaire just sighed and leaned back in her chair. “Guess sometimes things can change. People too.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Enjolras said after a beat. “I didn’t mean to—, I mean, that wasn’t okay for me to say.”</p><p>“I mean, you weren’t wrong,” Grantaire said, looking up at the ceiling. “But people do change. That’s part of life. God, if we’d had this fight last year there’s no way you would’ve apologized so quickly. Normally, it’d take at <em>least</em> an intervention by Combeferre, maybe Courf as well, in order to get you looking something close to contrite.”</p><p>“I’m, uh, sorry about that as well, then,” Enjolras said quietly. If Grantaire could compromise, then she could too. No sense in Grantaire one-upping her in this arena as well. “For, I guess, not listening to you. Back then, that is.”</p><p>“Wow, two apologies in one day? I must be dreaming,” Grantaire said with a chuckle, but then continued when she saw Enjolras frown. “Seriously, Enj, it’s fine. We’re moving past things, coming to terms with it. It’s all part of the breakup. This is what closure is like.”</p><p>Enjolras didn’t know if she <em>wanted</em> this to feel like closure. She didn’t know what she wanted at all. So she said nothing, taking a sip of her coffee. Grantaire just smiled at her and kept nibbling on the scone.</p><p>Rather than making eye contact, Enjolras let her eyes drift around the coffee shop. She remembered Grantaire mentioning that Mabeuf had let her put some of her art up, but Grantaire was clearly understating as usual. The walls of the café, normally decorated with fairly standard and forgettable coffee shop art, had been decked out with expansive canvases in Grantaire’s trademark color-block style. Enjolras saw black silhouettes outlined with bold colors, women dancing or standing tall in front of a crowd, scenes of city blocks and expansive fields, all abstract enough but still understandable to someone with no artistic knowledge. They brought the café to life, and Enjolras was in awe. They looked so much more majestic, more meaningful, hanging on the walls where they belonged rather than leaned up against the kitchen counter in Grantaire’s apartment.</p><p>“I didn’t know you had this many big pieces,” Enjolras murmured. “They look amazing here.”</p><p>Grantaire gave Enjolras a confused look. “Thanks, I guess. Yeah, it was pretty nice of Mabeuf to let me have a little installation, and I’ve actually managed to sell a few of the smaller ones which has been great.”</p><p>“Installation, this was a formal thing?” Enjolras asked. “Did you have, like, an opening or something?”</p><p>Grantaire nodded. “Yeah, it was back in August. Most of the group came, and we had a good turnout besides.”</p><p>It was Enjolras’ turn to frown. “I wasn’t invited?” She didn’t realize how hurt she was, thinking of Grantaire’s art opening, her first <em>formal</em> installation, and she’d missed it.</p><p>“God, I wasn’t about to invite you, was I?” Grantaire said. “I mean, this whole,” she waved her hands in front of Enjolras. “You’re whole ‘be nice to Grantaire’ crusade has been great, but if I’d brought it up to you in August you’d have laughed in my face, or punched me, for that matter.”</p><p>Enjolras opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out. She tried to think back to last August, what she’d been thinking, where her head was. She couldn’t imagine having ignored something that was clearly important to Grantaire, even for something as silly as a breakup.</p><p>But then, Enjolras started to remember. She thought about how there had been a big protest of one of the dairy factories south of the city in September, and how busy she’d been trying to organize with the environmental activists spearheading the operation. She remembered how she’d thrown herself into the work, doing everything she could to not think about Grantaire, or how she’d lost her one chance at something special. It wasn’t as raw of a feeling as it’d felt in June, but Enjolras had still been hurting.</p><p>“You’re probably right,” she said with a sigh. “Not that that’s an excuse. This is really amazing, and your work looks great in here.”</p><p>“Yeah, with proper lighting anything looks great,” Grantaire said lowly.</p><p>“That’s not what I meant.” Enjolras could feel her temper bubbling but she made sure to keep it tamped down. Grantaire’s self-depreciating comments had gotten tiring during their relationship, as if she had been unable to see any of her actions in a positive light. Now, though, Enjolras knew that arguing wouldn’t get her anywhere. Grantaire would simply clamp down, her lips would go tight, and she would get up and leave.</p><p>“That isn’t what I meant,” she said again, softly, making sure to meet Grantaire’s eyes to prove she was serious. “Just that I’m glad people get to see your work. It’d be a shame to keep hiding it in the apartment.”</p><p>Grantaire actually gave a small smile at that, and Enjolras felt her chest warm. Maybe this was possible, something close to friendship.</p><p>“Actually,” Enjolras said after a minute. “I realized I haven’t checked in on the album cover in a bit. How are things going on your end?”</p><p>“Oh, it’s all good,” Grantaire said, stretching out her arms. “I’ve got the mockup done in my sketchbook. Want to come by sometime this week to check it out?”</p><p>“Sure, how about Friday?”</p><p>Grantaire nodded. “Works for me, I’m free all day” She looked up at the clock on the wall, and swore. “I have to get back to work, don’t want to leave Joly stranded for too long. Her espresso skills can’t beat mine.”</p><p>“I doubt anyone’s can,” Enjolras said with a smile.</p><p>Grantaire’s face flushed, but she just stood up and grabbed the remains of her scone. “If you need any refills, just let me know, yeah? See you Friday.”</p><p>With that, she walked back to the counter, and Enjolras was once again left with her notebook and a heart full of confusing feelings she couldn’t <em>possibly</em> decipher.</p><p> </p><p>X</p><p> </p><p>After a blur of a week, Enjolras was almost glad to return to Grantaire’s tiny basement apartment on Friday. Grantaire welcomed her with a smile and barely any hesitation, and Enjolras was once again confronted with the oddly blank walls. This time, however, she saw moments of the old Grantaire, a few sketches hung near the card table that doubled as a dining and coffee table. They were mostly faceless figures and movement studies, but Enjolras could’ve sworn she saw Jehan’s braids represented in one of them.</p><p>“I’d offer you coffee,” Grantaire began, “but I don’t think the world needs an Athena hyped up on caffeine after three P.M.”</p><p>Enjolras nodded. “You stayed up with me enough nights to know better, I guess.” Caffeine would stay in her system well past sunset, and she remembered the late nights of furious songwriting while Grantaire sketched or painted in her tiny apartment, occasionally peppering kisses into her hair to try and coerce her into bed. Enjolras had always brushed her away, her work more important than any of Grantaire’s cajoling. Looking back on it now, she wished she’d been able to smile and relax into those soft kisses.</p><p>Grantaire’s lips went tight. “Anyways,” she said forcefully, “here’s what I have going now. If you like the direction, I can add a few finishing touches and bring it over to VJ’s on Monday.”</p><p>She walked over to the bed and rustled underneath it before pulling out a medium-sized canvas. Enjolras stood in the middle of the room as Grantaire put the art gently on the bed, and then Enjolras walked forward to get a better look.</p><p>The piece was…stunning. That was the only word for it. In the center of the square canvas, on a fiery red background, the outline of a naked woman leaned against a dressing table, long blonde hair cascading down her back, a sharp distinction from her pale skin. Her shoulders were pushed back, chin up and defiant, as if she were laughing. The figure was a simplistic outline with no face or defining features, as all of Grantaire’s art was, but there still seemed to be so much emotion there. The mirror behind her included not only her reflection, but also the shadowy shape of another figure, as if someone stood taking the picture. The dramatic colors, warm reds and yellows, belied the sad content of the album, reminding Enjolras of a warm summer’s day.</p><p>It wasn’t a portrait of Enjolras, per say, but there was a generous homage there. It was almost like a hypothetical version of herself, confident and idealized rather than heartbroken and lost. Then again, maybe Grantaire still thought of her as that confident woman.</p><p>“Grantaire,” Enjolras said softly, “I love it. It’s amazing.”</p><p>Grantaire quirked an eyebrow. “Really? You’re not pissed off that your nude figure is going to be on an album cover?”</p><p>Enjolras felt her face go red. Not because of Grantaire’s words, but of her confirmation. She’d painted Enjolras. “Of course not. We as a society stigmatize the female form far too often, and to celebrate it shouldn’t be a source of lewdness or pornography. No one bats an eye when men walk around shirtless, or perform onstage in only a vest. But when women undress, it’s for the pleasure of men. This is part of taking that back.”</p><p>“Or it’s just because I think you’re hot,” Grantaire said with a laugh.</p><p>“Well I doubt the label will take that argument as reason to get into it with the morality crusaders.”</p><p>“It’s not like your records were going to sell at Nordstrom anyways,” Grantaire said as she picked up the painting and leaned it against the wall. “I distinctly remember a song on the album called <em>Dykes in Love</em>, which I don’t think fits well with the hoity-toity brand.”</p><p>Enjolras acquiesced, and sat down on the edge of the bed, pulling her feet underneath her. “You’ve listened to more of the songs?” She asked.</p><p>Grantaire nodded. “Combeferre dropped by with a bunch of tapes. They’ve been useful for getting me into the angsty headspace where I can paint a nude portrait of my ex-girlfriend.”</p><p>Once again, Enjolras felt herself blushing. “Your art makes the album look much more positive than I’d say it is.”</p><p>“Eh, not so much positive,” Grantaire said, sitting down on the bed and leaning against the wall, leaving a space between them. “More angry. I mean, it feels like a breakup album, obviously, but not one you cry to. One you smash windows to, if that makes sense.”</p><p>Enjolras nodded, but Grantaire continued.</p><p>“I mean, that one line in, <em>Kiss Me, Kill Me</em> that’s like,” and much to Enjolras’ chagrin, Grantaire began to sing. “<em>To love another person is to see the face of god / but god is dead and she has killed him</em>. I mean, that’s not a song you sing to feel sorry for yourself. That’s a protest anthem wrapped up in a broken heart.”</p><p>Enjolras’ throat was dry. Grantaire’s raspy voice, her low near-tenor, singing those lyrics. It was <em>doing</em> something to her, reminding her of the sultry way Grantaire would sing old Billie Holiday songs when trying to get Enjolras to slow dance with her.</p><p>“Doesn’t make it any less a broken heart,” she finally said, voice quiet.</p><p>Grantaire closed her mouth, and looked down at her hands. “Yeah.”</p><p>Both of them were silent for a moment, and Enjolras tried to figure out what to say. But instead of any safe topics, she thought back to Combeferre’s comment on Grantaire’s past. About her bad relationships.</p><p>“We never talked about, like, before…” she began, trying to put it into words. “Our lives, before we all came together. I mean, I don’t even know where you grew up.”</p><p>“Wasn’t relevant,” Grantaire muttered, her face shuttering.</p><p>But Enjolras pushed on. “But it is.” She took a deep breath. “Combeferre told me, one time, that she was surprised we’d lasted as long as we did. She and Jehan apparently knew more than I did about you, and thought you weren’t one for commitment. I just…maybe if we knew more about each other, we’d have had a better chance.”</p><p>“You think the reason we broke up is because I never told you I’m from California?” Grantaire asked with a snort.</p><p>She was getting somewhere. “No, that’s not what I’m saying,” Enjolras continued. “But our experiences shape us, obviously, and our pasts can follow us even when we don’t want them to.”</p><p>Grantaire raised her eyebrow. “This sounds like a conversation for your therapist, Athena, not your ex-girlfriend.”</p><p>Enjolras turned so she was fully facing Grantaire, and licked her lips. “I was fourteen when someone first called me a dyke,” she said.</p><p>Grantaire’s mouth fell open, and then she put up her hands. “We’re not doing this, Enjolras. We don’t talk about these things, and there’s a <em>reason</em> for that.”</p><p>“Is there a reason other than your emotional hangups?” Enjolras retorted quickly.</p><p>Grantaire groaned, and her fingers pulled at her hair. “I get it, you want to get to know each other more, or whatever, so we can be friends after all this bullshit. But I <em>can’t</em>. I really can’t talk about this stuff, especially with you, of all people.”</p><p>“Because we’re exes?” Enjolras asked quietly. It would make sense, not wanting to share the intimate history of her personal life with someone who was no longer her intimate partner.</p><p>“No, because it’s <em>you</em>, Enj. The beacon of light and revolution in this shitty town. You, who tries to solve the world’s problems rather than living in complicit comfort. I don’t need <em>fixing</em>, and I certainly don’t want to become one of your projects.” She waved her hands frantically, her hair even frizzier than before. “I know you want to be friends, or whatever, and I’m grown-up enough to be able to handle that, but what I <em>can’t </em>handle is you giving me these soft and sad faces, as if you’re sorry for breaking up with me.”</p><p>“But what if I <em>am</em>,” Enjolras broke in forcefully. Then she shut her mouth. That wasn’t supposed to come out.</p><p>Grantaire’s face went stony. “You’re not. You’re better off for it, and so am I.”</p><p><em>But what if I’m not?</em> Enjolras thought</p><p>“Can’t you possibly imagine that maybe it’s not as one-way as you think?” She tried again. “I want <em>you</em> to know <em>me</em> better.”</p><p>“I already know you, Circe,” Grantaire said with a snarky smile.</p><p>Enjolras just rolled her eyes, and pressed on. She wasn’t going to let Grantaire’s walls break her down this time. She knew better. “Only Courf and Combeferre know this, and that’s because we all grew up in the same town. But it turns out that when you insist on short hair and androgynous fashion in an Idaho high school, people don’t take too kindly to it. Girls stopped being my friend, as if inviting me to a sleepover meant I would attack them in the middle of the night.” She paused, heart beating fast. But Grantaire hadn’t stopped her, was merely looking at her. Eventually, she nodded, as if to tell Enjolras to keep going.</p><p>“Teenage girls, they can be horrible. I didn’t even call myself a lesbian until coming out here, because other girls would just throw it at me as an insult. Hell, I’d never even kissed another girl—aside from Courf, y’know, but even that was mostly for jokes—until coming here. I was so <em>scared</em>, even though I spent my days fighting for gay rights and yelling at people for using homophobic language. There were always those fifteen-year-old girls in the back of my head, calling me a dyke for having short hair and not wearing makeup. It took me longer than I’d like to admit to come to terms with being out as a lesbian.”</p><p>Enjolras trailed off softly from her speech, breaking eye contact with Grantaire to pull at the comforter with her fingers. She sort of realized where Grantaire was coming from, because this shit was exhausting. Enjolras hadn’t thought back to high school in years, all of the internal anger and fear she’d felt, some of which she hadn’t even been able to share with Combeferre and Courfeyrac. The three of them had escaped Coeur d’Alene, but Enjolras had always wondered what would have happened if she hadn’t grown up in a place that had stifled her so much; if she’d been allowed to be proud of who she was, instead of fighting tooth and nail with her subconscious to see the beauty in being a lesbian.</p><p>“Your parents? What did they think?” Grantaire cut into her thoughts, her voice pensive.</p><p>“Oh,” Enjolras scoffed. “I mean, they already hated me for not being the perfect daughter they’d always wanted. Honestly I think they were glad I left right after high school graduation, at least they didn’t have to worry about me ruining their small-town reputation anymore.”</p><p>“My parents were the same,” Grantaire suddenly added, causing Enjolras’ head to shoot up and meet her eyes. “I mean, Santa Ana isn’t exactly a small town, but I know they were glad to see the back of me when I left town.”</p><p>Enjolras blinked. “You’re from <em>Southern California</em>?”</p><p>Grantaire just chuckled. “Doesn’t mean my time in high school was any more pleasant than yours, Athena. Catholic school doesn’t exactly scream dyke-friendly.”</p><p>“God, I can’t imagine seeing you in a Catholic schoolgirl uniform,” Enjolras said with a laugh. The tension between them was lessening, and Enjolras noticed a smile perk up on Grantaire’s lips.</p><p>“My first kiss,” Enjolras continued, “was with a girl at a fucking Nirvana show in 1989. She was this skinhead punk, and I was still new to the city, and we made out during Love Buzz.” She smiled as the moment replayed in her mind, the electric feeling of new lips on hers for the first time, her heart nearly thumping out of her chest, the tug of arousal in her stomach in tune with the bassline behind her. It had been messy and somewhat awkward, due to Enjolras’ inexperience, but at nineteen she’d thought it was the best feeling in the world.</p><p>Enjolras paused, and gave Enjolras a look.</p><p>“Y’know,” Grantaire began, “I just can’t see you with a skinhead.” And that’s all she said.</p><p>“Aren’t you going to—?” Enjolras tried, but Grantaire just snorted.</p><p>“I appreciate the openness, Enjolras, and this attempt at sleepover-esque bonding, but I’m not about to share my trauma with you right now.”</p><p>“Trauma?” Enjolras said softly.</p><p>Grantaire rolled her eyes. “My therapist’s words, not mine. She’s got some opinions on my youthful indiscretions that makes them out to be way worse than they were.”</p><p>Without thinking, Enjolras reached forward and took one of Grantaire’s hands. The same callouses, the same short fingernails covered in chipped polish, the same firm heel of her palm as Enjolras gave it a squeeze. Much to her surprise, Grantaire didn’t pull away. Progress.</p><p>“I mean, if it was really that difficult of a moment, and I guess this pertains to anything you tell me, I don’t want you to feel obligated,” Enjolras said. “This isn’t a tit-for-tat kind of thing. There’s just so much I don’t know about you.” She finished with a shy smile at Grantaire, whose face cycled from softness into a hard stone in seconds.</p><p>Grantaire pulled away her hand and stood up. “Well, you didn’t try very fucking hard to learn anything when we were together, and I can’t imagine why you care now. What was it you said then? That I was nothing more than a distraction? Keeping you from more important things?”</p><p>Enjolras’ heart dropped into her stomach. She’d thought she was doing so much better, but apparently not. “Fuck, that’s not—”</p><p>“Not what you meant? Of course it was!” Grantaire nearly exploded. “It was a fucking breakup, Enjolras. That’s when the truth really comes out.” She sighed, and crossed the room to sit on one of the folding chairs, head in her hands. “God, sorry. I know we’re supposed to be better now, not rehashing old fights and all.”</p><p>Enjolras hadn’t realized there were still old fights to be rehashed. “I’m sorry,” she said instead. “I pushed you, and I didn’t mean to. I guess I still don’t know where the line is.”</p><p>“There was never a line with you, Circe,” Grantaire said, head still hanging low. “That was the whole problem.”</p><p>Enjolras was at a loss. Each time she tried, did everything she could to avoid making things worse, the universe took over. It was like she could never fix it, even if she wanted to.</p><p>“I’ll, uh, go, I think,” she said, taking Grantaire’s responding mutter as an affirmative. She stood up, and took one last look at the album artwork.</p><p>“Grantaire,” she said forcefully enough to cause the girl in question to meet her eyes. “I want you to know that you’re perhaps the most talented artist I’ve seen, and I’m truly honored to have your art on my album. Regardless of everything else, I’m grateful to have someone with so much talent in my life.”</p><p>Before Grantaire could respond, Enjolras turned and left, closing the squeaky door behind her.</p><p>She really needed to figure out how to fix this.</p><p> </p><p>X</p><p> </p><p>Enjolras had a plan. She wasn’t going to let Grantaire’s insecurities or her own fears prevent her from moving forward. And she knew now what moving forward meant. Seeing the painting in Grantaire’s apartment, hearing those lyrics out of Grantaire’s mouth that she’d written so many months ago, made her realize what should have probably been obvious back in January; she’d never gotten over Grantaire. She had pushed her feelings down, tried to cover them up with activism and with music, as if she could just avoid the truth: she was still in love with Grantaire. And maybe, just maybe, if she found a way to explain that to Grantaire in a way that didn’t make her immediately run and hide, they could grow from this.</p><p>Much to her chagrin, she knew the next step, and that’s how she ended up on the third floor of a shitty apartment building in Columbia City as the sun was going down.</p><p>Before he could even knock on the door, a sixteen year old boy with sandy brown hair pulled it open, eyebrow raise.</p><p>“Ep, your fearless leader has arrived,” Gavroche said with a grin. “Nice to see you, Zeus, but I’ve got a man to meet about a turtle across town, so I can’t stay to chat.”</p><p>“Zeus?” Enjolras asked, confused and slightly annoyed as Gavroche pushed past her.</p><p>“Ugh, he heard R call you Athena and got a mythology lesson out of it,” Eponine called from the living room, sticking her head out into the hallway to meet her eyes. “Not like most of the lesson stuck, obviously.”</p><p>“Hi, Ep. Turtle?” Enjolras continued, rather than responding to the Zeus comment. That would be a later argument with Grantaire about the Greek pantheon and the relationship between deities and monarchy.</p><p>Eponine rolled her eyes. “Apparently there’s some asshole selling wild animals out of his basement in Capital Hill, and Gav’s made it his mission to get the guy shut down.”</p><p>Enjolras smiled, but then rubbed at her face when she remembered what had brought her all this way. “Sorry to barge in here, but do you have a minute? I wanted to talk about—”</p><p>“I’m not going easy on you,” Eponine cut her off, turning away and walking towards the kitchen.</p><p>“What?” Enjolras asked, following her.</p><p>“This is about Grantaire, right? And all the nonsense of the past few months,” Eponine rightly guessed. She pulled down two glasses, and a bottle of white wine from the fridge. “If you wanted sympathy, or storytelling, I’d say Jehan would be a better bet.”</p><p>“I’m not here for sympathy,” Enjolras replied. She didn’t expect that from Eponine. What she wanted was <em>answers</em>. “I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on.”</p><p>“What, about how you’re still in love with her?”</p><p>“Kind of,” Enjolras said, not even surprised at Eponine’s perceptiveness. “I know we’re on shaky ground, and I know what I said during the breakup was hurtful—”</p><p>“Now that’s an understatement,” Eponine scoffed. “I distinctly remember something about how she was a waste of space who contributed nothing to the world except through fatalistic comments.”</p><p>“You remember that?” Enjolras asked, shocked. She didn’t remember the exact words, but the sentiment made her stomach twist. She’d definitely said something along those lines, and not just during the breakup.</p><p>“Yeah, I remember you saying that shit to my best <em>fucking</em> friend, E.” Eponine frowned, but still poured Enjolras a generous glass of wine, putting the bottle back in the fridge before sitting at the rickety kitchen table.</p><p>“I know I need to apologize for that, and honestly, for a lot of the shit I’ve said to her,” Enjolras began, taking a sip of the wine before continuing. “But I also know now that I still want to try again.”</p><p>“Oh, I suppose you’ve changed?” Eponine said with a laugh.</p><p>“God, Ep, of course I have. You’ve listened to the album, you know that this time last year I’d never have written something like that.”</p><p>“So you’ve just become emotionally competent over the past year and suddenly that makes you ready to be in a relationship with someone who you royally fucked up?”</p><p>Enjolras ignored the stinging of her words. This is why she’d come to Eponine in the first place; she needed someone to remind her of why she was even fighting for this. And to give her proof that there was something worth fighting for.</p><p>“I’m getting there, sure,” she said, keeping her gaze steady on the dark-haired girl across from her. “And I’m not saying I’ll be perfect, but in the past three months I’ve learned more about Grantaire than I did during our relationship, and I think I’d like to try knowing her more. And knowing her again, I guess.” Fuck, Enjolras never had this much trouble being eloquent. The words usually flowed out of her, but apparently today they were failing her.</p><p>Eponine gave a little snort, but it was paired with a soft smile, causing Enjolras to blush. “Honestly, the fact that you’re a little screwy about this gives you points in your favor. But, I gotta ask, why are you talking to <em>me</em> about this?”</p><p>“Because I’m terrified of talking to her about it,” Enjolras said quietly. Her fingers pressed into the condensation on her wine glass, and she bit her lip. “I’m trying to figure out if it would be the right time, or even if it would <em>ever</em> be the right time, for me to ask her to try again. I know I have no right to ask, especially since I’m the one who messed this up in the first place, but…” She trailed off.</p><p>“But you have some inkling of hope,” Eponine finished for her. Enjolras nodded.</p><p>“You were there to pick up the pieces, last time. So you have the best idea of what I can to fix it this time.”</p><p>Eponine pursed her lips, taking a large sip of wine. “I’m not going to sit here and tell you I think it’s a good idea, since there’s a very good chance Grantaire is going to get hurt again.”</p><p>Enjolras nodded quickly. She’d expected that.</p><p>“<em>But</em>,” Eponine continued before Enjolras could break in. “I also think you might end up hurt too. You’re my friend too, damn it, and it worries me when you get all intense about something like this.”</p><p>“She’s not one of my causes, Ep.” Enjolras immediately saw where this was going. “It’s not like that, at least not this time. I can’t explain what I was like before, or even what <em>we</em> were like before. Because it was a mess, mostly. But now I know that she’s more than that, more than the music, or the protests, or anything else. There’s a whole other category of things I can love in my life, and she exists as a separate entity entirely.”</p><p>“That’s quite possibly the dumbest and most romantic thing I’ve ever heard you say.” Eponine was smiling now.</p><p>“Is there a good way to approach this?” Enjolras asked, tension leaking out of her shoulders. Hearing something positive from Eponine, even if it came with a huge caveat, was something of a relief. This meeting could have very easily gone the other way, and Enjolras would’ve ended up walking out aimlessly, unsure about her next steps or if she should have even done anything.</p><p>“I mean, not really,” Eponine said. “You can try just being open with her, explaining your feelings and all that, but R’s been hurt. So I’d just prepare for that to not be an easy conversation.”</p><p>“I’m going to fix this,” Enjolras promised.</p><p>Eponine nodded, a small smile on her face. “As much fun as this lovey-dovey conversation is, want to talk about band shit? I might have a potential gig for us after the May Day march.”</p><p>Enjolras took a deep breath, but then let Eponine distract her with the march and the band. She would get to Grantaire, and hopefully by the time she convinced the other girl to meet her halfway she would figure out how to say she loved her.</p><p> </p><p>X</p><p> </p><p>It seemed like before Enjolras could blink, it was May. In Seattle, there was always a big march celebrating International Worker’s Day, and Rebel Yell was always engaged in the protests. With the album release quickly approaching, and her hailstorm of emotions around Grantaire, Enjolras had been almost completely separated from any of the planning her friends were doing. She knew Combeferre and Jehan in particular were working with the organizing committee and a few of the bigger anarchist groups in the city, but Enjolras has been distracted.</p><p>So when May Day came around, and Combeferre showed up at her apartment at eight in the morning, Enjolras had no idea where they were headed.</p><p>“Eponine’s meeting us at Cal Anderson in about half an hour,” Combeferre said when she asked. “The march doesn’t start until noon, but we’re doing some community outreach and volunteer work beforehand.”</p><p>“Eponine planned that?” Enjolras asked, pulling a black t-shirt over her head as Combeferre leaned against the doorway to her room.</p><p>“Yeah, she and Bossuet and Joly set up a table for us, and we’re going to grab Courf on our way. She’s bringing a bunch of sandwich ingredients, I’m pretty sure.”</p><p><em>Eponine. Bossuet. Joly</em>. Their names rang in Enjolras’ head. “So Grantaire’s going to be there too, I assume?”</p><p>Combeferre gave her a knowing look but nodded. “I think so, although she might be coming by later too.”</p><p>Enjolras took a deep breath, and took a look at herself in the mirror on her wall. She didn’t care about her looks most of the time, but for a protest, practicality was necessary. Knowing Grantaire would be there made her second-guess pulling her hair back into a severe bun. She knew Grantaire liked her long hair, but she ended up tying it up while biting her lip. Now was not the time for vanity.</p><p>“I wasn’t going to bring it up,” Combeferre said carefully, passing Enjolras her black and red flannel. “But do we want to talk about your relationship with R? And what’s going on now?”</p><p>“I’m not sure,” Enjolras said, pulling the soft flannel onto her shoulders.</p><p>“Just so you know,” Combeferre said, following her out the front door as Enjolras locked up. “I won’t make you talk about it, but I <em>might</em> mention it to Courf when we see her, so if you want to do without that energy I’d be happy to listen now.”</p><p>“You’re evil,” Enjolras muttered, calculating that they had about fifteen minutes of walking before they made it to Courf’s. “Fine. I was talking with Eponine the other day, and I think I’m still in love with Grantaire. And I’m going to figure out how to do something about it.”</p><p>Combeferre just hummed in agreement, sticking her hands into her jean jacket pockets.</p><p>“But I’m nervous, I guess,” Enjolras continued.</p><p>“I mean, you’ve hit rock bottom with her before, it can’t be worse than that,” Combeferre replied thoughtfully.</p><p>“Not helpful,” Enjolras said through gritted teeth.</p><p>They turned a corner, and began walking up towards Capitol Hill.</p><p>“It’s love, this time?” Combeferre pressed again.</p><p>“I’m nearly certain. I mean, it’s different from how I felt last time. Last year—” She broke off. Last year had been a fiery sort of all-consuming passion. A double-edged sword of fighting and avoidance, of getting caught up in her music and only coming back to Grantaire when she needed an escape. This time, it was balanced. It was an understanding that Grantaire was as much a part of her life as anyone, and it wasn’t as if she could turn a switch on and off for her feelings.</p><p>Enjolras glanced over at Combeferre, who had a soft smile on her face. “Apparently,” she said, “writing this album has been good for you.”</p><p>“Yeah, I guess,” Enjolras said, looking down at her dusty boots, ignoring the blush she knew was returning to her cheeks.</p><p>Before too long, they’d reached Courfeyrac’s apartment building, and the girl in question came bounding out the front door, a vibrant red tank top and incredibly tight jeans her outfit of choice. Her short hair had been braided into pigtails, and from the outline of her piercings, it was clear a bra did not fit with the ensemble.</p><p>“<em>Mes amis</em>,” she began in badly-accented French, pressing a kiss to both Enjolras and Combeferre’s cheeks. “Are we ready to bring down the government?</p><p>“You definitely dressed for the occasion,” Combeferre said with a laugh. Together, Enjolras thought, the two of them made quite the pair. Courfeyrac’s bare shoulders and blonde hair with Combeferre’s dark denim and combat boots. Both playing with feminine and masculine, sexuality and power. It was times like these when Enjolras remembered how <em>attractive</em> all of her friends were.</p><p>“We’d better get going,” she began, pulling on Courfeyrac’s arm. “I don’t want to leave the others in the lurch. I’ve already been slacking on my duties this year in regards to the march, and I want to remind everyone that I do actually care about this stuff.”</p><p>“Oh, but you’ve been distracted by <em>love</em>,” Courfeyrac said with a snicker, pulling Combeferre’s hand into her own. “I never thought I’d see the day, our fearless leader uninterested in creating an anarchic commune, her thoughts distracted by a girl, an <em>artist</em> no less!”</p><p>Enjolras stuck out her head and glared at Combeferre on Courfeyrac’s other side. “I thought you said you wouldn’t tell her!”<br/>
“I didn’t,” Combeferre replied calmly. “But I can’t help it that you’ve been fairly obvious about this.</p><p>Enjolras frowned, and refused to answer any of Courfeyrac’s pressing questions as they walked down the main street towards the park where things were being set up.</p><p>As they approached Cal Anderson, the energy was palpable. Enjolras only had time to glance at the various folding tables set up along the grass, but they included a snack table, voter registration, first aid, and all sorts of community groups, handing out flyers and pins and black flags a-plenty.</p><p>Combeferre, seeming to be the only one who knew where she was going, led Enjolras and Courfeyrac to the back of the park, where she saw Eponine’s dirty converse kicked up on a plastic card table.</p><p>“What, we couldn’t shell out for a six-foot?” Courfeyrac asked as they approached.</p><p>Eponine grinned, and Joly popped up from behind her with a chuckle. “None of us have had a six-foot table since undergrad, Courf,” she said. “You should know that better than anyone. Did <em>you</em> keep track of the pong table after senior year?”</p><p>Courfeyrac acquiesced, pressing a kiss to Joly’s forehead, a privilege she held as Joly was the only one shorter than Courfeyrac herself.  </p><p>“Where did your girlfriend run off to?” Combeferre asked, pulling off her jacket as the clouds parted, a smattering of sun covering the park. “I wanted to talk to her about the banners.”</p><p>“Oh,” Joly said, pushing Courfeyrac and her incessant lips away with a blush. “She and R went to go grab them. Apparently R had left them at someone’s apartment last night, so they needed to do a bit of search and rescue.”</p><p>“Someone’s apartment?” Enjolras couldn’t help but ask, her mind automatically jumping to somewhere jealous and insecure.</p><p>It was Eponine who responded, as Joly just rolled her eyes and walked away, assumingly to collect her girlfriend and the banners.</p><p>“Not what you’re thinking, Athena,” Eponine said with a sharp edge to her voice. “Some guy from the community center had borrowed her paints, and R needed to go to his place to paint the banners.”</p><p>“Oh, that’s,” Enjolras broke off. “Nevermind.” Now was <em>not </em>the time, and Eponine clearly agreed, nodding her head and turning back to the table, pushing her feet to the ground.</p><p>“Why don’t you help me fold these flyers instead of fretting over a girl that, may I remind you, you don’t have an automatic claim on.”</p><p>Enjolras pulled the second folding chair up to the table, sitting nearly shoulder-to-shoulder with Eponine in front of the small space.</p><p>“These flyers for the Women’s Crisis Center?” Enjolras asked, noticing the language and resources Eponine had listed in her chunky handwriting. She’d scanned and printed out dozens of them, along with what Enjolras thought looked like Rebel Yell stickers. She turned to Eponine with a raised eyebrow, and got a scoff in response.</p><p>“Just because we’re giving out important information doesn’t mean we can’t also let folks know about the music too,” Eponine said.</p><p>“Thanks, that was a good idea,” Enjolras said, slightly annoyed she hadn’t thought of any of this. She knew there was a balance between dedicating herself to the cause and having a personal life; it was a balance most of her friends understood well. But Enjolras was still trying to find that line, where she could be in love and dedicated at the same time.</p><p>From across the park, Enjolras saw Bossuet’s tell-tale bald head and Grantaire’s curls bobbing through the crowd. When they got closer, Enjolras could see the banner Grantaire had apparently painted.</p><p><em>We are the communist dykes your mother warned you about</em>, it read, with the Rebel Yell symbols in one corner, and an anarchist symbol in another. It was bold and dramatic, with vibrant orange outlining around the stark black letters.</p><p>“Wow, that looks great,” she said once Grantaire was close enough to hear. Grantaire smiled, but was immediately overwhelmed by Courfeyrac, who forced Grantaire and Bossuet apart so the banner was streached out in its entirety.</p><p>“Holy <em>shit</em> you guys,” Courfeyrac exclaimed. “This is outstanding! Grantaire, your lettering is <em>beautiful</em>, and the little Rebel Yell homage? I love it!” She kept going, commenting on Grantaire’s use of space, and the little designs around the edges that Enjolras was just noticing.</p><p>Rather than shrink away, like Enjolras remembered her doing in the past, Grantaire only smiled, her face going slightly red. Everyone else chimed in, and Enjolras suddenly felt lost. Should she have said something more? Courf’s reaction seemed to go over well, and Grantaire was obviously proud of this. Or maybe Grantaire only shrunk away from compliments when they were from Enjolras? She couldn’t be sure, but something about it made her stomach turn.</p><p>“Hey, stop freaking out and help me finish folding,” Eponine broke in, nudging Enjolras with her shoulder.</p><p>“You noticed?” Enjolras asked quietly, still watching Grantaire and Bossuet, who had begun to laugh uncontrollably at something.</p><p>“Hard not to when we’re sitting next to each other,” Eponine replied, putting another stack of flyers in front of Enjolras. “It’s fine, you guys are fine.”</p><p>Enjolras bit her lip, but tried to focus. She was here for the <em>movement</em>, to make a change and show solidarity with the community around her. Her romantic drama had no place right here.</p><p>Before too long, the sun had reached high in the sky and organizers began turning on their blowhorns, calling for the march to start. Enjolras and her friends started packing things up, pushing the card table up against the chain-link fence because, as Courfeyrac argued, if someone took it, it would probably be for a much better use; none of them <em>really</em> needed a card table.</p><p>With backpacks and messenger bags swung on their shoulders, Enjolras found herself between Courfeyrac and Eponine as they followed the nebulous crowd towards the main road of the march. Tensions were high, but jubilant, with chants bursting out and signs from front to back. Grantaire and Bossuet unfurled their banner, hoisting it above their heads on two broomsticks to cheers from the crowd around them. Even though they weren’t leading the march, their group was fairly close to the front, with the open expanse of road in front of them. Echoes of Solidarity Forever drifted around them, and Enjolras caught a glimpse of Jehan hand-in-hand with Cosette, singing along joyously. It was a sight to see, and Enjolras felt a blossoming in her heart, a reminder of what all this was for.</p><p>Of course, that’s when it started to go wrong.</p><p>They’d turned towards downtown, where the short two-story shops and apartments became skyscrapers and banks, and were greeted with a significant police force in their way. The cops wore helmets, bulletproof vests, and gas masks. Enjolras didn’t have a good feeling about those.</p><p>As the marchers approached, those in the front began to shout at the cops, <em>hey hey, ho ho, fascist cops have got to go!</em> A few broke away from the group to get in their faces, and Enjolras couldn’t see what happened next, but someone screamed, the crowd surged forwards, and suddenly the cops were shouting out threats, and tear gas canisters were flying through the air.</p><p>Enjolras couldn’t remember how they got out. All she had were flashes. Grabbing Courfeyrac’s hand, someone shouting about Joly’s asthma, a particularly angry “fuck the police” from Combeferre, and Grantaire’s eyes meeting hers through the melee, running towards her, grabbing her free hand, pulling her away.</p><p>They finally break off from what has quickly become a riot, and even though they moved as fast as they could Enjolras could still feel the tear gas stinging on her face.</p><p>“Fuck, do you have any saline?” She asked Grantaire, looking around desperately for the others.</p><p>“No, but I bet Joly had some. God knows where she and the others are, though,” Grantaire replied, her voice tense and low.</p><p>They kept moving, just the two of them, without any knowledge of where anyone else had escaped to. Enjolras realized how close they were moving to her apartment, and she quickly laced her fingers within Grantaire’s and pulled her around the corner, still speed-walking down the tree-lined streets. Grantaire took in a sharp breath, but grasped her hand tighter, and they walked in silence. Sounds of sirens and shouts rose up from behind them, but Enjolras tried not to let that worry her.</p><p>Enjolras pulled open the door to her building and fumbled for her keys, pushing open her apartment door and pulling Grantaire in after her. She let go of Grantaire’s hand, her heart only giving a bit of a tug, and walked towards her bedroom.</p><p>“We need to change,” she called out behind her. “I’ll start a load of wash, hopefully get any remnants of the gas out of this stuff.” Without a second thought, she pulled off her flannel and stripped the t-shirt off as well, moving to take off her bra before hearing a sharp intake of breath behind her.</p><p>“Don’t mind me, Athena,” Grantaire said softly, her eyes downcast and her face red.</p><p>“It’s not like you haven’t seen this before, R,” Enjolras replied, hoping Grantaire would lift her eyes.</p><p>“Yeah, but it’s different now.”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>Enjolras took a breath and unhooked her bra, tossing it in the basket by her bed. “I’ll take this stuff down to the laundry room in a bit,” she said instead, rustling around her drawers for a loose shirt to wear in the meantime.</p><p>“Unfortunately, I still don’t think anything of yours will fit me,” Grantaire said awkwardly, her own shirt and jeans now joining Enjolras’ in the basket. Enjolras tried, she <em>really did</em>, not to look, but there was a part of her that had missed this. Had missed Grantaire’s curves, and the few hidden tattoos she had along her hips.</p><p>Enjolras swallowed, ignoring the dryness of her throat. “No, uh, I mean, here.” She walked over to her closet, and pulled out a box she kept hidden away. With a deep breath, she passed it over to Grantaire, focusing on the confusion on her face rather than the fact she was close enough to see the familiar stretch marks on Grantaire’s breasts.</p><p>“And what’s this?” Grantaire asked, putting it on the floor between them. Her hands stilled as she pulled out the first article. It was a band t-shirt, from Prince’s Revolution World Tour that Grantaire had worn over one evening when they were together. Enjolras remembered complaining about the overproduced quality of Prince’s music while pulling the shirt off of Grantaire, with the other girl countering each point as they traded heady kisses on Enjolras’ bed.</p><p>“I, uh, forgot to return some things to you,” Enjolras said softly. “Sorry.”</p><p>Grantaire pursed her lips, but pulled the purple shirt over her head nonetheless.</p><p>“Sometimes you really confuse me,” she said, reaching through the box to find a pair of shorts. Grantaire held them for a moment, looking back up at Enjolras, before pulling them on as well. “Now,” she continued, “we don’t have any saline, but some cold water should help with any leftover irritation.”</p><p>Enjolras nodded, and when Grantaire stood up, she hissed in pain. Enjolras noticed the scratches on her knees, having been covered by jeans before. “We can also deal with that, if you want,” she said softly, not sure of the etiquette for treating your ex-girlfriend’s injuries after a protest. Of course, the fact that she’d kept a box of Grantaire’s clothes probably proved that she wasn’t doing the right things already.</p><p>Grantaire just pursed her lips and made her way to Enjolras’ tiny bathroom, already reaching beneath the sink for the first aid kit. “Do you have any scrapes?”</p><p>“Not that I know of,” Enjolras said, taking the kit from Grantaire. “Eyes first.” She pointed at the sink, and Grantaire bent over to let the cool water give her face some relief. Enjolras followed, and the water felt like a godsend on her skin. She hadn’t realized how irritated the gas had made her, but washing it off gave her a moment to collect herself as well. It was just her and Grantaire, the world in chaos around them, sitting in this tiny bathroom as she tried to figure out the next move.</p><p>With her eyes cleared out, Enjolras patted the counter next to the sink, motioning for Grantaire to sit.</p><p>When Grantaire gave her a raised eyebrow, Enjolras looked down at her scraped up knees. “It’ll be easier for me to put some Neosporin on them and clean them out if I’m not bending over you,” Enjolras said in response.</p><p>Grantaire grumbled a bit under her breath, but eventually hoisted herself up onto the counter. At that level, Grantaire sat a few inches taller than Enjolras, and she let her legs fall open so Enjolras could step between them, focusing on her left knee which was slightly worse. They were quiet, aside from a hiss or two out of Grantaire when Enjolras dabbed the cotton ball on her cuts, but Enjolras felt like there was something delicate in the air between them. Listening to Grantaire’s breath, warm on her hair as she pressed bandaids delicately to each knee, Enjolras felt her heart begin to thump, a tingling flowing through her arms as they brushed against Grantaire’s unshaved thighs. She felt Grantaire tense, and looked up at her.</p><p>“Did that hurt?” She asked quietly, not breaking eye contact with Grantaire. In response, Grantaire shook her head, but it was as if words were on the tip of her tongue, almost breaking past her lips.</p><p>Without thinking, driven by the memories and the ache she felt in her heart, Enjolras leaned forward, slowly, giving Grantaire time to back away if she wanted. Instead, Grantaire closed her eyes and their lips pressed together softly, allowing Enjolras a sigh of relief. It was like sinking back into a warm bath, familiar and new all-together. Enjolras set the box of bandaids down on the counter next to them, and wrapped her arms around Grantaire’s waist, pulling the other girl closer to her as she opened her mouth to deepen the kiss. Grantaire let out a soft moan, and lifted up her hand to Enjolras cheek, her thumb caressing down her neck and over her shoulders.</p><p>Enjolras took a step in, her own hands drifting down to Grantaire’s thighs; in response, the other girl spread her legs wider, knocking the bandaid box off of the counter.</p><p>The sudden clatter broke them apart, and Enjolras met Grantaire’s eyes, eyes that were filled with something approaching anger.</p><p>“Fuck,” Grantaire said lowly, “this is <em>not</em> happening, Enjolras.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Enjolras said, taking a step back so Grantaire could hop off the counter. “Shit, I didn’t mean to—”</p><p>“No, it’s fine, I’ve just got to go,” Grantaire said quickly, not even bothering to lace up her boots as she hurried to the door.</p><p>“Wait, but I wanted to talk about—” Enjolras tried again, reaching out a hand to Grantaire’s arm, causing the other girl to still in her movements.</p><p>“I can’t talk about this, I <em>really</em> can’t, Athena,” Grantaire said softly, her eyes still downcast.</p><p>“Tomorrow?” Enjolras asked, her tone nearly pleading.</p><p>Grantaire just shook her head, and stepped out of Enjolras’ reach. “I can’t deal with you now.” With that, she shut the door behind her, leaving Enjolras with reddened lips, a million thoughts in her head, and an empty apartment.</p><p> </p><p>X</p><p> </p><p>After Grantaire left her apartment, Enjolras spent a solid half hour moping, thinking of how she could have gone about it in a better fashion, and berating herself for being overcome by her emotions. After picking herself off the floor, she called Combeferre, hoping the other girl would be able to get to the phone.</p><p>“Enjolras, are you okay?” Combeferre asked, her voice harried.</p><p>“Yes, I’m fine. No major injuries, to me or Grantaire.” She <em>refused</em> to get choked up on her name, focusing on being a leader and a friend rather than a heartbroken girl. “Are you and Jehan okay?”</p><p>“Jehan and Courf are both here, and I just got off the phone with Eponine, who was with Cosette, Joly and Bossuet. All of them are safe, but Ep said Bossuet had a pretty bad knock to her temple that Joly’s looking after. They might stop by the medical center later, but Eponine seemed to think Joly had it under control.” Combeferre’s voice was calm and comforting, and Enjolras felt the tension bleed from her shoulders. Without knowing it, having been so focused on her immediate emotional drama, she had forgotten the underlying anxiety of not knowing where her friends were as the rally had gone to shit.</p><p>“I’m glad,” Enjolras replied with a sigh of relief. “Any tear gas effects?”</p><p>“Courf got it pretty bad, but I had some saline on me and she took a shower as soon as she got back. She and Jehan are decompressing upstairs now, I know it was pretty scary for both of them.”</p><p>“Yeah, for all of us,” Enjolras murmured. “Do you mind—” she began, but Combeferre broke in over her.</p><p>“Do you want to come over? I think it would be good for us to be together right now, just as friends, not as any sort of organized entity.”</p><p>Enjolras felt her heart swell. “Yeah, that would be great. I’ll be over in fifteen.”</p><p>As she approached the familiar cottage-style house, Enjolras noticed the selection of boots on the front porch, and slid off her own next to the tiny, bright-pink Docs she assumed were Courfeyrac’s.</p><p>“Enj? We’re in here,” Combeferre’s voice rang out as Enjolras stepped through the front door. She followed the sound into the living room, where Courfeyrac and Jehan were cuddled on the loveseat with Combeferre passing Jehan a cup of tea. “Can I make you one?” She asked Enjolras, meeting her eyes.</p><p>“How about something stronger?”</p><p>Combeferre just raised her eyebrows, but made her way to the liquor cabinet and pulled out a bottle of bourbon.</p><p>As Combeferre poured her a glass, Enjolras sunk into the armchair, running her fingers through her hair. She knew Courf, Jehan, and Combeferre would probably much rather talk about the march, and about what went wrong there, but Enjolras didn’t want to get caught up in logistics and the politics of it all. And that was a new feeling. Last year, she would’ve pushed the incident with Grantaire out of her mind, seeing it as unimportant compared to their necessary activism. But now? It felt like her soul was being consumed, like she could still feel Grantaire’s lips on hers. There was no escaping it.</p><p>“Want to talk about it?” Courfeyrac spoke up.</p><p>Enjolras’ head shot up. “Talk about what?”</p><p>Courfeyrac cocked her head. “Whatever went down at the march. It was pretty fucking stressful, from our end, and we lost you and R early on.”</p><p>Enjolras bit her lip. “I fucked up,” she blurted out.</p><p>“It’s not your fault, Enj,” Combeferre said soothingly, handing her a glass and sitting on the footstool in front of her. “You couldn’t have known about the cops, and to be fair, you weren’t even involved with the planning this year.”</p><p>“Not that that was a bad thing,” Courfeyrac quickly interrupted. “We’re glad you’re taking time for yourself. But you don’t need to take on the blame every time something goes wrong—”</p><p>“It’s actually not about that,” Enjolras broke in. She needed to get it off her chest, because the faster she did that the quicker she could fix it. Or, at least try to salvage something of their friendship.</p><p>“Is this about the album? Because I think—” Jehan tried.</p><p>“I kissed Grantaire.” Enjolras said, biting the bullet.</p><p>That shocked them into silence. Courfeyrac’s eyes went wide, and Jehan’s face broke out into a wide grin.</p><p>“When?” Combeferre asked, her brows pulled together.</p><p>“Twenty minutes ago, or something like that,” Enjolras muttered. She took a drink of the bourbon, letting the burn ground her.</p><p>“Oh, this is absolutely <em>beautiful</em>,” Jehan sighed. She pulled herself out of Courfeyrac’s arms and ran to the phone on the wall of the dining room. She started punching in the numbers, pulling the cord through to the kitchen and closing the door behind her. Eventually, Enjolras heard muffled glee and laughter, assuming that Grantaire had indeed made it home.</p><p>“Is this a bad thing?” Combeferre asked carefully, as if she didn’t want to startle Enjolras.</p><p>Instead of answering that question, Enjolras turned to Courfeyrac. “You’re not asking for details? I’d assume you’d be as excited about this as Jehan.”</p><p>Courfeyrac gave a small frown. “I mean, of course I think it’s fabulous that you two have another shot at all this, but I don’t want you to rush into anything.” She rolled her eyes. “Fuck, you’ve got me sounding like Combeferre. I hate this.”</p><p>“I’m not rushing into anything,” Enjolras continued, glad that Courfeyrac was at least trying to lighten the mood. “This has been on my mind since February, at least.”</p><p>“I mean, obviously you’re not over her, considering you wrote an album that was half ‘fuck you’ and half ‘I miss you,’ with some very generous references that I doubt went unnoticed.” Courfeyrac grinned. “Heartache really does make for some great music, and the proof is on stage.”</p><p>“But just because you’re not rushing into things,” Combeferre interrupted, putting a hand on Enjolras’ thigh, “doesn’t mean you won’t still have doubts. I think it’s clear that none of us want to go through what happened last spring.”</p><p>“Well, I <em>thought</em> that wasn’t going to happen again,” Enjolras said shortly, “but literally twenty minutes ago I kissed her and she ran out almost in tears. So, maybe you’re right. Maybe it is a bad thing.” Enjolras knew she needed her friends, knew she needed their advice. But she was getting a bit tired of them assuming she was thinking solely with her hormones.</p><p>Combeferre and Courfeyrac locked eyes, and Courfeyrac stood up. “I’ll go check on Jehan,” she said. “Make sure we’re getting the full story.”</p><p>As she left, Enjolras made as much room as she could on the armchair, motioning for Combeferre to squeeze in next to her.</p><p>“One day,” she said, mostly to herself, “I’m going to figure this out. I’ll get it right.”</p><p>“Grantaire is just hurt,” Combeferre said soothingly, wrapping a strong arm around Enjolras’ hunched shoulders. “Just like you. Except she has more to lose, because she thinks that the last time was a fluke. Why would she think this time would be any different?”</p><p>“You all keep saying I’ve been writing my heartbreak in music. I mean, if everyone else gets it, why wouldn’t she?”</p><p>“Grantaire has always been dense when it’s come to you, Enj,” Combeferre said with a laugh. “You always see the best in people, yeah? The potential for greatness. Grantaire just assumes the opposite. You could—”</p><p>“I could literally kiss her, and she’d think it was some kind of joke,” Enjolras said, realization dawning. “Fuck, at this point is there anything I could do to convince her?”</p><p>“I’m no expert on Grantaire,” Combeferre said, “but I’m sure you’ll think of something. And if not, Jehan is slightly closer to an expert on Grantaire, and she’ll certainly have plans.”</p><p>Jehan took that moment to reenter the room, a stormy look on her face and Courfeyrac grinning behind her.</p><p>Enjolras took a deep breath. A speech like this from Jehan would no doubt be nearly as bad as Eponine’s, so best to get it over with. “I’m sorry—” she began, but Jehan held up her hands.</p><p>“If we’re going to fix this, I need you to listen to me. Because I just had an exhausting conversation with my best friend who thinks you kissed her out of some sort of misplaced pity. I’m now realizing that you are equally terrible and dumb, and if we leave you to your own devices nothing will ever get done in this town.”</p><p>Enjolras’ brow furrowed. “Pity?”</p><p>“Now,” Jehan continued, as if Enjolras hadn’t spoken. “We don’t really have time to write a love song, which would be my preferred option, but I’m sure we can come up with some other form of dramatic declaration for the next concert. Don’t you have that show at Barricades coming up?”</p><p>Courfeyrac nodded vigorously, grin still wild on her face. “Oh, that’ll be the <em>perfect</em> place for this sort of thing! Barricades easily holds five hundred people. Ugh, and the absolute <em>poetry</em> of falling in love in the middle of a bunch of break up songs? I’ve never been more excited.”</p><p>Jehan and Courfeyrac dissolved into a detailed discussion, and Enjolras broke her eyes away to look at Combeferre.</p><p>“Do you think that would work?” She asked quietly. Sometimes, the boisterous excitement of Courfeyrac, and by extension Jehan, didn’t always work out. Enjolras didn’t think she could bear it if another plan went awry.</p><p>Combeferre was quiet for a moment, but her hand was a steady pressure on Enjolras’ shoulder. “I think Grantaire might not be a person who needs subtlety. Maybe it’s best if you let Courfeyrac write something for you.”</p><p>“Yes!” Courfeyrac crowed. “I’ll grab a notebook, and Jehan please pour Enjolras some more alcohol. If we’re going to get an accurate representation of her love for Grantaire, she’ll probably need a bit of help.”</p><p>“Hang on,” Enjolras protested as Jehan grabbed the bourbon. Combeferre looked at her expectantly, but Enjolras didn’t continue.</p><p>Wrapped in Combeferre’s warm arms, and with Courfeyrac laughing from somewhere upstairs, she realized this was one of those moments. The moments where she could redirect the conversation, say something about how she had it under control and they should really be worried about the Barricades concert going well, or she could let Jehan and Courfeyrac continue. She could lean into the gesture, and maybe finally get Grantaire to pay attention. At this point, she was willing to try anything.</p><p>“Fine,” she said in acquiescence. Jehan gave her a smile and pressed a kiss to her cheek as she refilled her glass.</p><p>“I promise you won’t regret this,” Courfeyrac said, bounding back into the room with a pink pencil and a spiral notebook. “Now drink up! We have <em>emotions</em> to unlock.”</p><p> </p><p>X</p><p> </p><p>A week later, as they soundchecked at the Barricades for the concert, Enjolras was feeling much less confident in Courfeyrac and Jehan’s writing abilities.  Sure, after half a bottle of bourbon, she’d felt like the short speech they’d drafted was the most romantic thing since Sappho, but looking at the little piece of paper under the dim bar lights had Enjolras questioning all of her friends. This was never going to work, and it was going to end with her looking like a dumbass in front of a crowd of hundreds of people as Grantaire frowned at her from offstage. Or something. It wasn’t like Enjolras had been playing out dramatic scenarios of the confrontation in her head all week.</p><p>Barricades was big enough that they actually had a green room, which was where Courfeyrac was mixing drinks while Combeferre and Eponine bickered about key changes or something. Enjolras knew that at some point during the night, VJ and Cosette would show up to be their official label representatives, but right now it was still just the four of them like old times.</p><p>Before taking one of the plastic cups from Courfeyrac, Enjolras ran a hand through her hair and peaked out into the main room. The energy was electric, as usual. Their performance slot had been pushed back later, so the crowd was drunker and more rowdy than usual. But that didn’t worry Enjolras. Their concerts always got rowdy.</p><p>In fact, as Enjolras bounded onto the stage with her bandmates, the only anxiety she felt was related to her grand declaration of love for Grantaire. Courfeyrac had assured her that Jehan would make sure Grantaire was in a good place after <em>Dykes in Love</em> so Enjolras could spot her, and Eponine had even convinced the lighting guys to turn on the house lights for a few minutes.</p><p>But as Enjolras shouted through her intro, and they tore into the first measures of <em>Tabula Rasa</em>, she noticed a group of guys standing near the bar, just close enough for the stage lights to catch their faces in the shadows. Her brain registered it as odd, but all of her energy was directed towards the music.</p><p>“Girls to the <em>motherfucking front!</em>” she called out, watching with pride at the surge in the mosh pit at her feet. Off to her left, she noticed Jehan’s braids piled on top of her head and Grantaire’s bright red lips. Her heart began to beat faster, and Eponine’s intro for <em>Dykes in Love</em> began.</p><p>But it wasn’t the romantic moment Enjolras was expecting. It was May Day all over again.</p><p>The group of guys from the bar had pushed their way into the crowd, acting obnoxious as men usually did, and something broke. A punch was thrown, Enjolras couldn’t tell by whom, and before she could even stop the song a full-on fight had broken out beneath her.</p><p>Combeferre’s drums abruptly stopped, and Eponine reached for her mic, shouting: “What the <em>fuck</em> you guys let’s keep it decent here, yeah?”</p><p>Courfeyrac joined in, trying to catch their attention, but nothing was working. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw someone’s fist connect with Jehan’s shoulder, knocking the smaller girl back into Grantaire’s arms.</p><p>That was <em>it</em>.</p><p>Just as Grantaire surged into the melee, pressing Jehan behind her, Enjolras pulled her guitar strap over her head, tossing it onto the stage behind her and taking off her flannel.</p><p>“Calm the <em>fuck</em> down!” She shouted, ignoring the security guy to her left before jumping down into the pit.</p><p>She could hear Courfeyrac and Combeferre yelling behind her, but their voices quickly got lost in the jostling around her. It was there, amongst the bodies, elbows in her sides and feet kicking her shins, that Enjolras realized how small she really was.</p><p>But instead of focusing on that, she pressed forward, still shouting, still trying to get people to stop, but with her feet moving towards her friends. She got Grantaire in her eyesight, the other girl’s eyes narrowed in anger as she pushed at one of the bigger guys who might have been one of the instigators. As the guy surged towards Grantaire, Enjolras saw red.</p><p>“Get the fuck away from her you <em>asshole</em>,” she screamed, pushing two other bodies out of her way to throw a terribly-aimed punch at the guy’s shoulder. It barely connected, but the guy turned away from Grantaire to face Enjolras, teeth bared. In response, Enjolras saw a fist coming towards her face, and then she saw nothing.</p><p> </p><p>X</p><p> </p><p>Making an effort, Enjolras opened her eyes, feeling like she had the world’s worst hangover. As she became aware of her surroundings, she realized she was lying on a hard surface, maybe the ground? Voices began to drift through her years, coming into focus.</p><p>“Enjolras? Holy shit, are you awake?” Someone was saying, voice harried. Enjolras knew that voice, she <em>loved</em> that voice. That was Grantaire’s voice.</p><p>“I love you,” Enjolras sighed, turning her head to look at Grantaire’s face. The dark-haired girl looked terrified, and Enjolras noticed blood on her lip.</p><p>“What the fuck? Has she lost her mind?” Grantaire was asking, looking at someone on Enjolras’ other side. Enjolras followed her eyes and noticed Combeferre, looking down at Enjolras with concern.</p><p>“Enjolras, can you tell me what you remember?”</p><p>“I remember that I love her,” Enjolras repeated. She turned back to Grantaire, her hand flailing until Grantaire took it in her own. “I love you. So much. And I’m going to be better this time.” She was really butchering the speech Courfeyrac had written.</p><p>“Enjolras,” Combeferre said, her voice serious. “Do you know where you are?”</p><p>Enjolras refused to let her eyes leave Grantaire’s, even as the other girl’s eyes flitted between Combeferre and Enjolras, fear still clouding her features.</p><p>“I remember the concert, I remember the hooligans, and the fight, and everything,” Enjolras said. “I’m fine, but I missed the speech. I can’t miss the speech now.”</p><p>“Speech?” Grantaire said, near-hysterical.</p><p>Enjolras squeezed her hand, and looked over at Combeferre. “Help me up?”</p><p>Combeferre looked hesitant but reached behind her shoulders to lift her into a sitting position. As the world spun around her, Enjolras realized she was sitting on the stage at Barricades, the rest of the bar empty except for her band and her friends who were gathered around her.</p><p>Instead of focusing on them, Enjolras turned her body to Grantaire, who was apparently kneeling beside her. She took in the cut on Grantaire’s lip, the scrunchie that had apparently been holding back her hair but was now barely keeping the tangles in check. The fear in her eyes.</p><p>“Fuck, I—” Grantaire began, but Enjolras took a deep breath and she stopped.</p><p>“I had a speech,” Enjolras said, ignoring the pout she heard in her voice. “It was going to be this whole moment, Courf helped me write it. I’m in love with you.”</p><p>“You already said that,” Grantaire said, a worried tone to her voice. “Maybe you got knocked on the head harder than we thought.”</p><p>Enjolras rolled her eyes, which was probably not the best decision, considering it reminded her that apparently she was going to get a black eye out of this as well. “See? This is why I needed a speech.”</p><p>“Can we do this later? You’re still obviously—”</p><p>“Actually,” Enjolras broke in, turning to Combeferre. Her head was pounding, but she needed to make Grantaire see sense. “’Ferre, would you all give us a minute?”</p><p>“Fine, but then you’re putting ice on your eye,” she said sternly, standing up and walking to where Courfeyrac and Jehan were very clearly trying to listen in.</p><p>Enjolras was surprised that Combeferre hadn’t put up too much of a fight, but maybe she was as sick of waiting as any of them. At this point, Enjolras was tired. She was tired of dancing around the point, of pretending she wasn’t in love, of trying to hide her feelings. Even if she was going to be an incoherent mess, she was going to <em>get through this</em>. Her and Grantaire both.</p><p>When the last of their friends had drifted off towards the exit, Enjolras found herself alone in the cavernous space, Grantaire’s heavy breathing the only sound in her ear. With only a bit of effort, she twisted her body and crossed her legs, so she and Grantaire were facing each other. The other girl mirrored her position, and then there was silence.</p><p>“A speech?” Grantaire asked softly, breaking the moment.</p><p>Enjolras took a deep breath. This was it. “There was a whole thing, Jehan helped me write it. But the gist of it is, I’m in love with you.”</p><p>“Still?” Grantaire’s voice was barely there.</p><p>This was the harder part. “No, not still. I think it’s new. Because I don’t think I loved you last time. Not that you weren’t worthy of it, but that I didn’t understand what love was. At least, what it could be. Personally. Like, for me.” This was very quickly going off the rails. Enjolras took a deep breath. “What I mean, is that last time, I was trying to fit you into my existing worldview, expecting you to fit in with the protests and my friends and everything else that I thought I knew. I was rigid in expecting you to fit. And when you didn’t, I got mad. Instead of changing my world to fit <em>you</em>, because you’re worth changing the world for.”</p><p>“Changing the world?” Grantaire asked, her eyes going wide.</p><p>“Changing <em>my</em> world,” Enjolras pressed on. She could do this. “That’s why I’m saying I love you <em>now</em>. Not then, not again, but now. And I’m not sorry I kissed you the other day, but I am sorry that I didn’t explain myself first.”</p><p>That was it. She had bared her heart, and now the only thing left was for Grantaire to respond. Even though she was confident—at least, mostly confident—that Grantaire must still have feelings for her, there was a part of Enjolras that assumed she had broken things beyond repair. Last May had ruined them both, and the idea of Grantaire giving her a second chance still seemed out of reach.</p><p>After a beat, Grantaire raised an eyebrow. “Can I respond now?”</p><p>Enjolras took a moment, trying to figure out if she covered everything. If there was anything else she could say to try and convince Grantaire. “I think so. I love you,” she said again, for good measure.</p><p>That made Grantaire smile a bit. “I got that, thanks. And I think I get what you mean. I mean, you’re definitely not the same Enjolras who shouted at me about my lack of ambitions.”</p><p>“Does that—” Enjolras didn’t want to presume, but Grantaire was looking at her with soft eyes, completely unguarded in a way Enjolras wasn’t sure if she’d ever seen before.</p><p>“I’ve been in love with you since the first day we met,” Grantaire broke in. “I was in love with you when we went to Jehan’s poetry reading, I was in love with you the day you shouted that you never wanted to see me again, I was in love with you when I saw you jump in front of me like a fucking <em>idiot</em> an hour ago. I don’t think there’s anything you can do to make me stop loving you, Enjolras.”</p><p>“A-are you sure?” Enjolras asked, even as a smile grew on her face. Her heart buoyed as she saw her dreams coming true. And this time, her dreams weren’t about humanity, or the rights of the oppressed, or anything remotely political. Now, her dreams centered around making Grantaire smile, bringing a soft blush to her cheeks, and seeing her laugh again. They could do this. They could try again.</p><p>“Thing are going to be different, but a good different,” Grantaire said quietly. In a bold move, she reached forward and took Enjolras’ hands in her own. For a moment, Enjolras reveled in the familiar feel of those calloused hands, squeezing them tight. “We’re still going to fight, you know?”</p><p>“I mean,” Enjolras tried to find a way to fit her feelings into words. She didn’t <em>want</em> to think about fighting with Grantaire again.</p><p>“No, Enj,” Grantaire said firmly. “If we’re going to try this again, we gotta be on the same page. I love you, you know this. But it’s not going to be all bread and roses all the time, yeah? We’re still <em>us</em>.”</p><p>“But what if we end up like last May,” Enjolras tried. “I don’t want to put you through that again, I don’t want it to get that bad. I want to be with you, I love you, but what if—”</p><p>“This time, we’re going to get through it together. Because you <em>have</em> changed. You just told me that. You know I don’t believe in much, but I can say with complete certainty that I believe you.”</p><p>Even though she still felt littered with insecurities, Enjolras’ heart was beating a mile a minute. There was so much talking they still needed to do. There were stories to share, fears to escape, and the fact that Enjolras probably didn’t know what a healthy relationship looked like. But even with all that in front of them, Enjolras knew she was making the right choice when took her hands out of Grantaire’s and placed them on her knees, leaning forward to press her lips against the dark-haired girl’s, a smile growing as Grantaire’s hands reached around to steady her waist. She tasted the metallic blood on Grantaire’s lips, and the smell of smoke that curled around her, and it was as familiar as breathing. With a sigh, Enjolras let her mouth fall open, deepening the kiss and finally feeling complete again. It was like coming home, and yet it was entirely new.</p><p>Because this time, as she was kissing Grantaire, Enjolras knew that she wasn’t going to <em>choose</em> between her life and Grantaire. They were intertwined, and it wasn’t a <em>burden</em> to be in love. It was a blessing.</p><p>After a beat, Grantaire broke the kiss, pulling away but keeping her eyes on Enjolras. From outside, Enjolras could hear the laughter of her friends, but at that moment, in the empty club with the house lights illuminating the stage, she felt loved in the most complete way.</p>
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